Yin and Yang
by IP82
Summary: PostHBP Following a trail of mysterious messages with a Yin & Yang symbol on them, Harry comes to certain devastating revelations, pushing him down the path to darkness. Dark!Harry, no romance.
1. The truth shall set you free

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**Yin and Yang**

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**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter.

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**Start of the story notices**

**o - Summary**

Post-HBP; Following a trail of mysterious messages with a Yin & Yang symbol on them, Harry comes to certain devastating revelations, pushing him down the path to darkness. Dark!Harry, no romance.

**o - Pairings**

No romance.

**o - Canon**

This story starts off right after the sixth book, "Harry Potter and Half-Blood Prince" (post-HBP). It contains spoilers from Harry Potter books 1 through 6, but none from other HP publications ('Quidditch through the ages', etc.), HP sites or interviews with JKR.

**o - Rating**

**Rated** - **R **- Swearing, violence, blood and gore. Character deaths. No explicit sex scenes.

**o - Grammar warning**

English is not my native tongue, so there will probably be some grammatical errors.

**Chapter 1 - The truth shall set you free**

_Tap, tap, tap._

Harry Potter's eyelids twitched slightly, before opening just enough to reveal a pair of bleary green eyes. They drifted slowly over the smallest room of Number Four Privet Drive, before stopping at a digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed.

_9:42 AM__, 27th of July, 1997. Four days until my 17th birthday._

He tried to glare at the red display, but managed only a depressed stare.

_Welcome to the last four days of your summer break. Please fasten your seatbelts and get ready to be killed on a hopeless quest. We hope you enjoyed your life, both the bad times and the terrible times. Faith Inc. wishes you a happy death!_

His snort turned into a dejected sigh, brief spark of humour fading into the shadows of depression.

"The story of my life," he mumbled, landing a wobbly hand over the clock's snooze button. He turned his back to the nightstand and burrowed deeper into his warm cocoon made of blankets, as if seeking shelter from reality.

Harry had been in this state ever since the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts, five weeks ago. It was a year marked by the full-blown return of Lord Voldemort, betrayal of the light's only spy in his ranks, Severus Snape, and the consequent murder of its leader and greatest icon, Albus Dumbledore. These tragic events had left Harry with a terrible burden - an obligation to vanquish Lord Voldemort, without guidance or help from anyone but his two faithful friends.

And at first, Harry was perfectly willing to do his part. He was quick to dump his girlfriend, make an enemy out of the minister and create a broad plan with Ron and Hermione, knowing they would follow him to the end of the world if needed. While plotting and joking around with his two best friends, like in the good old days, Harry felt an irresistible surge of élan and optimism, of almost religious belief that their friendship would once again pull them through anything Fate threw at them. On that warm summer afternoon, at a glade near Dumbledore's mausoleum, surrounded by friends and allies, everything seemed so easy and achievable.

But left alone at Privet Drive, with little else to do but brood on his situation, doubt began to gnaw at Harry's mind. Faced with practical aspects of his hasty decision, for the first time he came to truly realize the magnitude of his task.

The truth of the matter was, neither he nor his friends had any clue whatsoever of how to locate Horcruxes or how to destroy them, preferably without killing themselves in the process. And even if, by some miracle, they managed to demolish Voldemort's safety net, Harry was well aware that he had no hope of destroying the final Horcrux - the Dark Lord himself. He knew he was neither smart nor powerful. He was just an average Joe, with a scar over his forehead, a wand in his hand and a few gadgets in his trunk; Nothing that would help him fight his way through legions of Death Eaters and then outduel the most powerful dark wizard in a century.

His friends weren't much better in that regard either. Yes, Hermione was rather knowledgeable and capable for a witch of her age, but deep inside, Harry knew she wasn't nearly as talented as they all liked to pretend she was. After all, all her knowledge and good grades came from hours of hard work and practice, and not from some instinctual grasp of magic, the kind of which a true magical prodigy would have had. As for Ron... he was a great bloke to argue about Quidditch or pass notes in classes, but Harry honestly didn't see how he could be of any help in the colossal task ahead. His easygoing attitude, mad board game skills and encyclopaedic knowledge of Chudley Cannons might be an asset in the Gryffindor common room, but Death Eaters spoke only in terms of magic and power.

As these thoughts festered in his mind, Harry's initial optimism slowly gave way to depression and hopelessness. His days became a blur of robotically performed chores and insomnia burdened nights. He would spend hours at end staring through the window or at the ceiling, trying to quench the crushing weight in his stomach, reminding him just how much of a failure he truly was; A weak, pathetic loser, unable to protect his friends and fulfil the obligations everyone, including the Fate itself it seems, had placed upon his shoulders.

Even when he would finally manage to doze off, his sleep was restless and riddled with nightmares. Sometimes, he would dream of his friends getting killed by Voldemort, with him watching from the sidelines, unable to lift a finger to help them. Other times, the Dark Lord would parade his severed, but somehow still conscious, head down Diagon Alley, where wizards and witches, both dead and alive, would gather and throw food at it, jeering at their 'chosen one' for failing to save them.

However, the nightmare he dreaded the most was the one that appear the most benign, at least to an outside observer. The sequence was always the same, taking place on the day of his 17th birthday, when he would finally be forced to leave the protection of Privet Drive's blood wards. He would tell his relatives to go screw themselves, pack up his trunk, drag it out to the pavement and sit on it. And that was it. The Order of the Phoenix would be wanting to lock him up for his own protection; The ministry plotting to use him; Death Eaters out to kill him; Horcruxes hidden, waiting for him to somehow find them and destroy them; The Dark Lord sitting on his throne, waiting to be slain; Press following his every move; A part of the public cheering him on, the other part jeering. The dark and the light would be clashing against each other above his head, in an epic battle of good and evil that would determine the fate of all. And with all this chaos spiralling around him, he would just sit there on his battered old trunk, by a road in some English suburbia. There would be no one there to meet him, advise him, order him, or even attack him; Nothing at all. Just him sitting there, completely at a loss what to do, while the whole world hangs in balance, waiting for his move. And then he would wake up, drenched in cold sweat, panting from panic and fear that that cursed day had finally arrived.

In his more lucid moments, he would remember a time only a few years back, when he used to rejoice the day of his freedom from the Dursleys, to childishly plan all the things he would do to them once he is finally able to use magic. He always found it amusing how it took merely one mocking quirk of Fate to turn his greatest dream into a nightmare. At times, this realization of the never-ending and always present irony of life would almost bring a smile to his face.

But then his eyes would drift back to the calendar on the wall, and the beginnings of this sarcastic smile would give way to a blank mask he always seemed to wear these days. Struck with another reminder of the crossroads that was inevitably approaching, he would throw himself into more meaningless chores or burrow himself deeper into his pillows, trying to hide himself from the rapidly approaching deadline and backbreaking obligations it would bring.

And today was no exception. With only four days of his isolation left, the maelstrom of war and the Horcrux hunt was dangling perilously close on the horizon. The mere thought of everyone's expecting faces upon asking him what was the plan made him burrow even deeper into the sheets.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Would you shut the fuck up!" Harry snapped and slammed his old clock, throwing it across the room. "There, it's not like I'll need you any more after I leave this dump and get everyone killed," he murmured, trying to get back into that blessed half-awake brooding mood he seemed to prefer these days.

_Tap, tap, tap._

He quenched his irritation and fully opened his eyes, struggling to distinguish details from the blurry visage of his room. _Wait a second, a clock doesn't tap, it rings,_ his slightly more lucid brain suddenly realized.

He lifted himself into a half-sitting position and took his glasses from the nightstand, glad that he hadn't sent them rolling along with the alarm clock. His small, cluttered room came into focus, along with a white owl glaring at him through the window.

"Hedwig!" Harry yelped and stumbled out of bed, hoping his haste would save him from his pet's ire at being kept waiting. "There you go girl, sorry to keep you waiting," he apologized, wincing from the expected peck. He noticed a letter tied to the owl's leg.

"Who's that from, girl?" he asked the irritated pet on his shoulder, tilting his head away from her sharp and over-eager beak.

Hedwig intensified her glare at his question, as if asking _"Why don't you find out?"_

Knowing better than to disregard the bird's 'gentle suggestion', Harry quickly untied the letter from her leg, skipping over the safety precautions he would usually take. Hedwig's willingness to carry the letter was good enough insurance for him.

The first thing Harry noticed was a circular black and white image on the envelope's face. Startled, he realized he knew that symbol very well.

**_Yin & Yang_**_, the everlasting harmony of opposites,_ Harry smiled fondly, giving himself in to the rush of nostalgic memories.

Even after more than ten years, he could still remember the art class during which his disgruntled prep-school teacher had first introduced him with this symbol. While most of his year mates simply ignored the over-ambitious lecture filled with esoteric philosophy, one lonely six year old misfit had somehow connected Yin & Yang's dual imagery with the duplicity of his own life - where he was forced to act like an obedient drone for the sake of his relatives, while keeping his true dreams, hopes and thoughts strictly to himself. Grasping only a small part of the symbol's meaning, young Harry had spent an enjoyable few months imagining himself a personification of Yin & Yang and doodling his new 'call-sign' wherever he could. In his mind, he was like Clarke Kent and Robert Banner combined into one - plain and boring on the outside, he bravely suffered through loneliness and ridicule so that no one would find out how nice and special he was on the inside.

And then, as is often the case with children of that age, some new fad had come along and Harry's brief career of a masked hero was pushed aside and eventually forgotten. That is, until now.

Smiling sourly at the reminder of his unhappy childhood, Harry noted that the symbolism of Yin & Yang applied to him now stronger than ever. Here he was, once again forced by everyone's expectations to wear a heroic face like a mask, while keeping his true feelings and doubts safely tucked on the inside. He suddenly found it more than slightly disturbing that someone knew him well enough to pick this particular image for the letter's cover.

_Although, it might as well be a coincidence_, he acknowledged.

With a shrug, Harry ripped open the envelope and pulled out of it a plain white piece of paper. Large printed letters suggested the sender was either illiterate or was trying to conceal his handwriting. The message itself was even stranger.

• • • • •

_Harry Potter,_

_Your account balance sheet at Gringotts contains certain information crucial to the quest you're about to partake on._

_Do not seek Griphook, the goblin in charge of the Potter vaults. Speak with his boss Buffpick instead._

**_Harsh lessons cannot be conveyed by means of written or spoken words; they must be experienced by oneself._**

• • • • •

Harry reread the unsigned note two more times, before sitting down on his bed to mule over it. One thing immediately caught his eye - the mysterious sender had written about his _'vaults'_, as in plural. He had always half-suspected there was more to the Potter wealth than just one vault, but he never found this matter important enough to waste too much thought over it. His interest, however, was definitely piqued now.

In the end, it didn't take him too long to decide he would move his butt over to Gringotts and speak with this goblin mentioned in the note.

_I'll have to leave this house in a few days anyway, whether I like it or not. This way, I at least have a tangible lead to follow,_ he told himself, while packing his most important possessions in his enchanted schoolbag. He left the room with a spring in his step, feeling better than he had in weeks.

* * *

"Is... is this real," Harry looked hopefully at the goblin sitting across the desk from him, as if urging him to admit it was all some sort of elaborate joke.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," Buffpick drawled indifferently.

"But... No, it can't be," Harry stuttered, while frantically listing through the file again, as if hoping another inspection might uncover something more, anything that would explain these terrible insinuations he was faced with.

The first page contained the full listing of his vaults and properties. Of the five vaults he had to his name, three were still unavailable to him. Both his parents' personal accounts and the Potters' main vault would be placed under his control on the day of his 17th birthday. The fourth account had been assigned to him by a mysterious donor just a few weeks ago, as a sort of an early coming of age gift... Or that's at least the explanation Buffpick had offered. Only the final vault, his trust fund, had been regularly used during the last 17 years.

And a bit too regularly, which was the crux of the problem.

Judging by the report Harry was holding, his trust fund had to be refilled to its full capacity of 10 thousands galleons each year since his parents' murder back in 1981. Knowing for a fact that he himself had withdrawn less than a thousand galleons in his entire life, and never prior to 1991, Harry had no explanation for this discrepancy, other than that someone else had been withdrawing his money without his knowledge or consent.

If there was any doubt about the figures in the main sheet, the second page swiftly blew them away. It contained a listing of all the people that had gained access to his trust fund over the years. Dumbledore, Snape, Dumbledore, Lupin, various combinations of the Weasleys, Hermione... The list went on and on, each name signifying another possible betrayal on a list that was already too long.

Harry's heart wanted to believe that his surrogate family needed the money to finance an emergency medical treatment of their seriously ill cousin, or that Dumbledore needed funds to help poor muggleborn families, but his brain told him otherwise. Withdrawing the full content of his account year after year, and each time just days before its scheduled refilling, spoke quite clearly of a well organized robbery. The worst thing was the fact that he had been left starving, alone in his rotten cupboard, while his so called friends and mentors feasted on _his_ family's legacy. Just the thought of that turned his disbelief and sadness into boiling anger.

"Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?" he growled at the goblin, trying to suppress the urge to twist his, a Weasley's, _anyone's_ neck with his bare hands.

"It was the duty of your account manager, Griphook, to inform you of your financial affairs on the earliest occasion possible; which, for the muggle-raised humans such as yourself, would be during your first visit to our bank," Buffpick intoned in a bored fashion, before ruffling through his files. "According to our records, Griphook _had_ welcomed you on your first visit here and had even given you a tour of your trust fund vault. Do you deny this, Mr. Potter?"

"No. He gave me the cart ride alright," Harry seethed. "But he never mentioned anything about my other vaults or gave me my balance sheet... nor did he do it during any of my other visits! And if I had gone to him today instead of you, I bet he would have produced a neat, doctored balance sheet, showing me how everything is perfectly fine! It's clear to me that the little bastard has been bought off! He's in on it too!"

"I see," drawled Buffpick, while writing something down in one of the files on his desk. To Harry, he seemed more interested in filling out the paperwork properly, than dealing with the rampart corruption that had been exposed in his department.

After half a minute of waiting, Harry's patience was at end. "Well?" he snapped. "What are you going to do about this?"

"Griphook will be punished for his oversight, make no mistake about that Mr. Potter," said Buffpick swiftly as he looked up from some sort of form he'd been filling out. "He's been found guilty of repeated negligence on duty and thoughtless conduct towards his clients, resulting in damage to this company's reputation and Human-Goblin relations in general. As a punishment for his transgressions, he'll be promptly transferred to one of our minor branches and his salary reduced by 15 percent for a period of six months." He nodded to himself, looking pleased with such a swift and merciless sentence. He then returned to his paperwork, speaking on in a droning, robotic tone of voice. "We at Gringotts offer you our sincerest apologies for this terrible misunderstanding and our hopes that it won't hinder-"

"That's it!?" Harry jumped up, knocking the chair down and smacking a pile of paperwork from the goblin's desk, spreading it all over the floor. "You're just gonna let him walk away!?"

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," snapped the goblin, straightening up to his not so considerable height. "Playing along with rich clients' eccentricities is one thing, but letting you have a temper tantrum inside my office is _not_ what we've agreed upon!"

"Oh, do excuse me if me having to meet your excellence in person because one of your own subordinates had been bought off has taken too much of your precious time," Harry seethed sarcastically. He was aware that the goblin of Buffpick's rank wasn't obliged to meet human clients, but this was taking it a step too far in Harry's opinion. _I am the damaged party here, not the fucking goblins,_ he raged silently.

Buffpick, on his side, seemed rather taken aback by this outburst, for a moment looking more confused than annoyed. But before he could get his wits together and formulate some sort of response, Harry suddenly exhaled his rage out and slumped down in his chair, massaging his temples.

"Oh forget it, it's my own fault anyway. I should have questioned the wretched prick myself when I had the chance," he waved him off, realizing that the only thing Griphook actually did was neglect to inform him about his accounts. It was his own fault for not digging deeper during or after his first visit to the bank. Back then, he had simply been too engrossed in learning about the wizarding world and, for the first time in his life, having fun with his... _friends_.

Harry sighed sadly, all the arguments about money suddenly seeming rather petty compared with the prospect of getting betrayed by his surrogate family. "Besides, this isn't about money... it's... it doesn't matter," he muttered under his breath, lost in his thoughts.

For a moment Buffpick stared oddly at Harry, as if wondering how anything in the world could _not_ be about money. But then he shook his head and sat down, mumbling about eccentric wizards and their foolish games. "If you say so, Mr. Potter," he said carefully, looking rather content to let the whole matter drop. "So, would you require anything else of me, or could we finally bring this _highly improper_ meeting to a closure?"

"No," Harry shook his head slowly, still reeling from the terrible truth he had just uncovered. _The letter was right,_ he decided. _If someone told me this in person, I'd never believe them._ And that thought suddenly reminded him of another mysterious loose end he had uncovered during his visit.

"Actually yes," he abruptly said to the goblin. "I want to visit this new vault that's been assigned to me two weeks ago. And then hopefully withdraw some money from my trust fund... that is, if my _friends_ have left anything there not attached to the walls."

"Certainly," said Buffpick, as he chimed a strange bell-like device on his desk. "I'll just call in Griphook's replacement."

A few minutes later, a youngish goblin with some sort of strange, mismatched glasses hanging over his eyes walked in. "Hello Mr. Potter, my name is..."

"I don't care," Harry interrupted him, the recent affairs having rather soured his predisposition towards good inter-species relations. The appearance of his new account manager only served to bring back some of the resentment gathered towards goblins during the meeting.

"Well Buffpick, it was certainly _illuminating_ meeting you. Good bye and thank you for _nothing_," he sneered nastily as he stood up, his short bout of self-incrimination suppressed in favour of blaming others, which was easier.

"Come on!" he snapped at his new account manager, as he stalked out of the manager's office in long, purposeful strides.

Two goblins exchanged a look, before Buffpick shook his head and spat in Gobbledegook. "Ungrateful wizarding brat! To think I've just wasted a whole hour of my day on indulging him with this charade of a meeting..."

He suddenly spotted the younger goblin still standing there, watching his boss's rant with fascination in his enlarged eyes.

"What are you waiting for, insect! Go after him! Shoo!" Buffpick snapped, sending the whippersnapper running after the angry teen through the halls of Gringotts. "And make sure he doesn't break anything valuable! You've seen how unstable he is!"

* * *

"Who are you and what do you think you're doing?" snapped a voice from behind Harry, making him almost slip from the library ladders he was standing on.

"Good evening to you too, professor McGonagall," Harry slowly turned around, well aware of a wand pointed at his back. He gave the old teacher one of his knowing half-smiles, but his eyes remained guarded, a lingering consequence of the disturbing truth he had uncovered earlier that day.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Potter," the old witch sighed in relief. "Back here already?"

"You know me, professor; can't keep me away from Hogwarts," Harry quipped, hiding a guarded stance. "And before you ask why I'm not at my relatives' place, let me assure you that completing this project I'm working on is much more important for the war effort, than staying under the blood wards for another day or two."

"So I've been told," she drawled, peering at Harry with a mixture of suspicion and concern. "Pot... Harry, are you quite alright?"

"Of course I am," Harry frowned. "I'm not here because of the Dursleys, if that's what you mean. With my coming of age approaching, they were as timid as beaten puppies," he chuckled, remembering his relatives running away from whichever room he chose to mope in. "Besides, it's only been a month since we've last seen each other, professor. Even I couldn't get myself hurt in that amount of time, at least not without some deadly conspiracy going on." He smiled, trying to appease his teacher's concerns before she sent him off to the hospital wing.

McGonagall pursed her lips in annoyance. "Harry, I'd really prefer if you'd just tell me what's the purpose of this cloak and dagger game you're playing."

"Staying one step ahead of Voldemort?" McGonagall's eye twitched. She opened her mouth to object, but Harry beat her to it. "I know what you want to know, professor. And I'm sorry to say that, for the time being, it must remain a secret between myself and professor Dumbledore. This was one of his last wishes, so I ask you to respect it, as he would have surely respected yours."

Playing on the emotional card was a low blow, but after these recent revelations, Harry had no sympathy left for the old man. He did respect the headmistress, but he was still reluctant to share the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes so soon after being betrayed by the last two people whom he had entrusted it with. That morning's meeting at Gringotts had taught him a valuable lesson about not trusting people indiscriminately, and he was determined to take it to heart. _Besides, I'm sure the traitors will blab it all out sooner or later,_ he groused.

McGonagall practiced her glare for a few more seconds, before sighing in exasperation, obviously letting the matter drop for the time being. "Fine, be that way, Mr. Potter," she turned and stomped off somewhat petulantly, pausing at the library door just for a moment. "Oh and whatever is it you're doing... good luck."

"Thanks, professor," Harry called after the sound of her echoing footsteps, not quite sure what to make of his head of house.

Turning back to the task at hand, he once again scanned through the piece of paper he'd found inside the deposit box his mysterious benefactor had left him at Gringotts. It was an article cut out from a few weeks old issue of Daily Prophet. It spoke of the historic importance of the Hogwarts' library and speculated on what might happen to it if the school is shut down.

"_Deceitfully Downplayed Detection Draughts 167_," Harry murmured, parroting the printed message he had found on the back of the article, beneath a hand-drawn Yin & Yang symbol. It was obvious his secretive correspondent wanted him to visit Hogwarts' library and find the book he had specified in his note. He had no clue what the purpose of this enquiry was, but he couldn't help but feel apprehensive after the hard truths his previous clue had uncovered.

Without Madam Pince's grumbling help, it took Harry almost two hours and a trip to the Restricted Section to finally locate the tome he was looking for. He was dusty, sweaty and tired, but his brain never felt more awake since the start of the summer. Solving mysteries always had that sort of effect on him. Placing the tome on a nearby library table, he plopped down and located the page indicated in the note.

• • • • •

**_Browning's variation of the 'Cunctus Corporis Exploratio draught'_**

_Considered by many for one of the most effective detection potions in existence. No other formula offers such an excellent combination of quality and simplicity, giving even the mere NEWT-level brewers a fair shot at achieving highly usable results. Like all detection draughts, its function is to identify any and all latent curses and wards attached to the target's body and produce a comprehensive report..._

• • • • •

Harry stopped reading and pushed the book away, finally seeing where this was going.

_Are they indicating that I have a curse placed on me?_ Harry wondered worriedly, before gathering his Gryffindor courage and ploughing forward.

_Well, there's only one way to find out,_ he told himself as he snapped the book shut and headed towards Slughorn's potions classroom, determined to follow this new lead to whatever conclusion it might bring.

* * *

Twenty-four hours and three failed attempts later, the detection potion was finally completed. Harry sighed with relief and plopped down into teacher's comfy chair, giving his tired legs some rest. Thankfully, the brewing process had a lot of stasis stages, allowing him to catch up with his sleep, which was surprisingly restful after weeks of constant insomnia. If Harry was a smoker, he would have lighted up a victory cigar right about now; feeling of accomplishment and renewed purpose was just that good.

_I should really thank this yin-yang person, once I finally meet them. But first, let's find out what bugs I have on me._

The final instruction from the book was one of Browning's modifications of the original formula. The potion was supposed to be poured into a Mythril cup and mixed with a drop or two of the drinker's own blood.

From his Occlumency lessons, Harry knew Snape kept the school's supply of Mythrilware in a locked cabinet in his office, always afraid some student might damage or steal them. He only hoped Slughorn hadn't relocated them during his short tenure. A quick Alohomora later, he stood before Snape' precious cabinet, only to find its lock broken. For a moment he was afraid someone had used the commotion during the Death Eater attack to clear out the entire collection. But a cursory glance upon opening the cabinet quickly alleviated his fears, seeing how everything seemed to be in its place. The only thing out of the ordinary was a folded note tucked inside one of the Mythril vials. The yin-yang symbol was clearly visible on its back.

Ahh_, I should have expected this,_ Harry smiled excitedly, as he took the Mythril vial and walked back into the classroom. _Another clue for me to follow after I'm done with this._

Eager to proceed with unravelling the mystery, Harry grabbed one of the silver knives from the table and cut his hand. He let some of his blood spill into the vial, followed by twice the amount of murky green liquid from the smouldering cauldron. He gently stirred the vial three times, making sure a self-inking quill and a roll of parchment were in place, as instructed. Finally, he took a deep breath, scrunched his face and swallowed the disgusting brew in one gulp.

Slowly, like a rising tide, Harry felt a foreign magic spread through his entire body; reaching every nook and niche, analyzing, testing and recording. Suddenly, a strange force grabbed his arm and moved it towards the quill. His first instinct was to fight it, but then he remembered this was a normal part of the process, so he relaxed and let the potion do its job. He watched with fascination as his possessed hand uncurled the parchment and started printing out a summary of his various ailments and diseases.

The first item on the list was a vague note about lingering after-effects of an unknown dark curse on his forehead. _Nothing new there,_ Harry shrugged.

But then the quill moved on to the section _'Attached charms and long-lasting hexes in effect'_, and his aloofness turned into anxiety.

• • • • •

**_Unknown_**_ - Customized tracking charm_

_Allows the owner of the attached magical object to locate the target at any given time, anywhere in the world. The charm feeds off the target's own magic, allowing it unlimited duration time._

• • • • •

"Well, it's not like I wasn't expecting this," Harry sneered, feeling slightly relieved that it wasn't something much worse than a harmless tracking charm.

His relief, however, was short lived, as the quill started writing under another section - _'Potions in effect and potion residues.'_

• • • • •

**_The draught of a guilty mind_**_ - psychosomatic potion, classified as dark arts. Found traces of a prolonged exposure to small, regular dozes._

_Burdens the target's mind by amplifying their current worries, concerns and fears. Known for causing insomnia, nightmares and depression. Tasteless, scentless and colourless, if brewed correctly. _

• • • • •

It took Harry a second or two to grasp the implications of this revelation. He just couldn't believe that the hell he's been through these past few weeks had been artificially induced by some kind of a dark arts potion.

"Dursleys! It got to be them!" he cursed, knowing his relatives were the only ones capable of supplying him with daily doses of this potion, without him becoming any wiser.

However, a bunch of magic-hating muggles could do only so much on their own. No, Harry saw it clearly now, Dursleys were little more than willing pawns in this conspiracy. Someone else must have been pulling their strings - a wizard or a group of wizards, with the means of obtaining the 'guilty mind' draught and a ready access to the Privet Drive's wards. The list of possible culprits was short and intersected handily with another list he had just acquired from the Goblins.

_Order of the fucking Phoenix! Was stealing my money not enough!?_ Harry seethed, his brain already digging deeper through the connotations of his latest discovery.

_They must have been afraid that their little piggy bank might run off, cutting them off their source of finances. Thus, they made sure I'll stay put at the Privet Drive, until they could relocate me to some sort of warded basement they've undoubtedly been preparing. They only had to cut off the potion once they got me there, and voila! They'd have a willing, even grateful prisoner, perfectly happy in his golden cage! Bastards!_

In his indignation, he barely noticed when the quill started writing under a new section - _'Wards, blocks and permanent ritual effects'_.

• • • • •

**_De Chantelle's valve_**_ - magical core block, first class;_

_Blocks out excess amounts of magic, allowing only for an average power outflow to pass through. Strong emotional episodes tend to breach the block, but its effect is automatically restored once the subject has calmed down. Often used to hide true power levels of above-average wizards and witches._

• • • • •

"Holy shit!" Harry blurted out as he read the passage. His first reaction was disbelief, but then he remembered the incident from his third year. He had been trying to master the Patronus charm for months, with little to no success. But then, as soon as he'd found himself in a life threatening situation, the power had simply exploded from his wand, creating a Patronus capable of chasing away hundreds of dementors.

Other similar incidents from the past came to his mind, but his musings were interrupted when his possessed hand wrote down yet another item.

• • • • •

**_Leomentis cerebral modulation ward_**_ - mental inhibitor, second class_

_Limits the target's learning and logical reasoning capacity. Tends to cause rash behaviour and short attention span. Severely limits the extent of the target's Occlumency skills._

• • • • •

Harry stared numbly at the last passage his hand had written, dead weight settling in his stomach. Friends, money, freedom and magic - over the past six years they all became an important part of his life. Seeing them sullied or taken away was painful, devastating even; but in the end, they were all pieces of a shell, none of them touching the actual person inside. He could always rationalize he was merely returning a gift that had been loaned to him with his first Hogwarts letter. If he tried hard enough, he could even convince himself that the past six years were just one weird frightening dream that was about to end.

However, this latest entry was something else entirely. The violation went deeper than the mere facade he wore, the role he learned to play. It pierced straight into his very core, leaving a gaping hole in the sole piece of the Universe Harry Potter considered uniquely and unquestioningly his own. His mind was his last and only refuge, a private heaven where no fan, relative or enemy could reach, and the best of friends could only glimpse. But to learn that his thoughts were never truly his own, that even this rudimentary privacy that most people take for granted had been taken away for the greater good of the wizardkind was simply too much.

Hot rage fumed from the pit of his stomach and through his entire body, making his blood boil and his vision narrow. With a primal scream, Harry wrestled his arm and the rest of his body away from the control of the potion, relishing the feeling of, at least symbolically, throwing his shackles off. The self-inking quill was whisked away from writing out closing disclaimers and advertisements for the businesses that had sponsored the potion's creator, and hurled towards the far wall of the classroom, along with the cauldron, spare vials and variety of other potion appliances unfortunate enough to be in Harry's reach.

A few minutes of cleansing fury later, Harry slumped into his chair, totally exhausted from both his temper tantrum and the devastating information he had just uncovered. Even though a part of him savoured the sight of the once dreaded classroom in ruins, a much bigger part of him felt dirty and violated by the foreign magics festering inside him. He couldn't help but mentally rewind his various screw-ups over the years and wonder if things would have been different if he had his full magical and mental capacities available during those times. He was damn well certain Snape's Occlumency lessons would have been much different without that accursed mental ward ruining his efforts. He gritted his teeth in anger as he remembered getting outperformed in his studies by a bunch of bookworm half-wits, including his ex friend, who then looked down on him and tapped each others' backs for being better than the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Just the thought of Hermione's self-righteous sermons about his inattention filled his stomach with new bouts of righteous anger.

_The bitch is most likely in on it too! Probably trying to keep me ignorant, so she could stay the perfect ickle miss know-it-all teacher's pet,_ he seethed, his brain souring through conspiracy theories involving his ex friends.

But the worst thing of all was the realization that he had no clue who he really was. Were his decisions truly his own, or had the brain block influenced them? Would he really have run off to the Department of Mysteries and gotten his godfather killed, if it weren't for the Leomentis-induced recklessness? Would he have let Sirius kill Pettigrew and prevent the whole war from happening? Would he even have demanded to be sorted into Gryffindor in the first place? Was not only his whole life one big fat lie, but his personality as well?

Hours passed while Harry just sat there, staring at the wall and trying to make some semblance of sense out of his life. There was only one thing he was sure about - nothing would be the same again. Even if all his suspicions turned false, he knew he could never revert to being just a good, old Harry, a part of the Golden Trio and Dumbledore's man through and through.

"Nowhere to go but forward," Harry eventually sighed, determined not to let himself slip back into depression.

_Now to see about removing these wards from my mind and magical core,_ he decided. _But how to do it? Hmm, I have a strange feeling that my friendly neighbour might have left a clue or two._

Harry picked up the yin-yang's note from the Mythrilware cupboard, which alone remained untouched on Slughorn's work desk. He carefully unfolded the paper and read the single printed sentence inside it.

"_Ye Olde Elven Rituals of Life 26_. Hmm, well I guess it's back to the library for me,"

With another sigh, he trudged off towards his new destination, hoping house elves would visit the potions classroom before McGonagall does.

* * *

The morning of Harry's 17th birthday dawned bright and sunny. Of course, it mattered little to Harry himself, seeing how he met it inside a chamber deep beneath Hogwarts, going through the final preparations for the ritual he had decided to undertake. Or more precisely, the one Yin & Yang's latest note had suggested.

The _Estë's grace cleansing ritual_ should do exactly as its name suggested - rejuvenate the focus person's entire body, while removing any maladies and foreign magics the ritual could find.

At first, Harry was a bit sceptical that one simple cleansing ritual would be enough to remove all the garbage that had been piled on his back. After all, he knew that Restricted Section kept hundreds of magics suitable for this purpose - alchemy, nature magic, ancient Elven lore, elemental summoning, oriental magic, even the dark arts. And in each category, there was a number of rituals and their sub-variants, each one affecting a different combination of magical effects and curses. However, a quick look through the appendix of the 'Elven Rituals' book reassured him his secretive helper had once again thought of everything - each of his maladies could be found in the 'Estë's grace's compatibility chart.

Shaking his head at the reminder of Yin & Yang's uncanny efficiency, Harry placed the last runic candle onto its focal point and took a stock of his work. Hundreds of white candles formed a huge circle, touching all five points of the central arcane pentagram drawn with dragon blood. Around and inside it, there was a complex arabesque of green power lines, black runes and blood red arcane symbols, carefully arranged according to the arithmetic calculations and instructions found in the suggested library book. Magical plants at various stages of their life cycles and multi-coloured runic candles were strategically placed at their specific focal points inside the scheme, creating a perfect equilibrium between life and death, which was apparently a major characteristic of Elven ritualistic magic.

Satisfied with the scheme itself, Harry turned his observations to the room around him. It was a gloomy circular chamber, with walls made of black obsidian and a single heavy door leading to the much larger space outside - the Chamber of Secrets.

It was funny really - when he first realized he would need a specially warded chamber to perform his cleansing ritual, 'Chamber of Secrets' was the first thought that crossed Harry's mind. Not a second later, tucked inside his 'Elven rituals' tome, he noticed a cut-out article speculating that a genuine ritual chamber might still exist as a part of Slytherin's private quarters. Realizing it was another bit of help Yin & Yang had left for him to find, he felt a surge of pride that, for once, he didn't need anyone's help to figure something out. The less pride-worthy part included finding the secret entrance to the chamber itself and then cleaning it up from cobwebs and strange organic gunk he didn't even want to think about. But with his absolute freedom at the end of the tunnel, no amount of grossness, hard work and painstaking study was too much for him.

_Well, I guess it's finally ready,_ Harry eventually concluded. _And it's about time too. That old bitch McGonagall had already arranged for the Order thugs to stop by later that day and 'escort' me to the Burrow. I bet the traitors will throw me a nice 'surprise' birthday party financed by the money they stole behind my back._

Squashing away his righteous anger, he unceremoniously started the process by stripping himself naked and closing the chamber's heavily warded door. He then approached a cage in the corner and carefully retrieved a barn owl from it, holding its wings pressed.

"Sorry old boy, I needed a magical animal for the sacrifice, and the owlery was the most convenient source I had at hand," he explained apologetically while petting the bird that was desperately struggling in his hands, as if sensing its fate. Harry knew this part of the ritual wouldn't come easy to him, but he, of all people, understood that some sacrifices are simply necessary in a war. _Thank God Hedwig hadn't seen me whisking this old fellow away._

With the owl awkwardly clenched in his hands, he tiptoed into the very centre of the pentagram, mindful not to step on any of the markings on the floor. Once there, he sat Indian style at the very heart of the rune scheme and picked up a blood knife he had left there earlier.

"Well, better get on with it," he sighed as he pinned the haggard owl to the specific place on the floor in front of him.

He took a deep breath and started chanting the Elven words he had learned by heart from the ritual book. "_Faer ned uireb taur, im can-le, im can-le, im can-le_..."

While chanting the generic summoning verse, Harry took the blood blade and made an incision over his palm. He felt the blade suck in his blood through the cut, before closing the wound, leaving a visible scar behind.

"_Beleg Estë, nestas ned lhaew, im baur le,_" Harry spoke firmly, while carefully dragging the dripping knife through the runes arranged into a half-completed circle around the struggling bird. He finished the chant by clumsily drawing a simple closing rune with the knife's tip. The runes around the owl suddenly lit up, entrapping the bird into a cage of crimson magic. With some relief, Harry let go of the now restrained owl and moved on to the next verse.

"_Beleg Estë, teli a cenedril nín ant,_" he intoned, as he carved another bloody rune near the last one, making a new set of auxiliary runes power up. The energy net shifted, turning the owl on its back and spreading its wings, which exposed its vulnerable chest.

"Lasto nín cane... Lasto nín cane... Lasto nín cane..."

With each word of the chant, the wind was slowly picking up inside the chamber, reaching a good speed by the time the circle of white candles around the pentagram ignited on its own.

_Alright, now for the hard part,_ Harry sighed.

"_Faer ned uireb taur, im anna nín rhaw,_" he intoned through gritted teeth, while carving in the life rune on his stomach. He felt the knife suck in some more blood, leaving a neat red drawing behind it.

_"Beleg Estë, im anna le seri aew!" _with a yell, he plunged the knife straight through the owl's heart, slightly surprised by how natural the move felt. There was a strangely fascinating cracking of ribs under the knife tip and a few desperate trashes and hoots, before the owl finally slumped dead.

Clearing his head from the disturbing image, Harry proceeded to the next part.

_"Beleg Estë, im anna nín faer!"_ he yelled through howling wind, while carving the soul-link rune on his chest. He was thankful that these runes were rather rudimentary, since he wasn't exactly a great artist even with pen and paper, not to mention a knife and his own flesh. A distant part of his mind wondered if owl's blood was infectious and whether the ancient Elves knew anything about different blood types or even had them.

"_Beleg Estë, im aníra lín galu!_" Sharpening his focus, Harry drew the connection rune at the central focal point of the entire scheme. There was a flash of light, as a white thread of magic shot out of the freshly drawn symbol, reaching the soul rune on Harry's chest, moving over to the life rune on his stomach, then connecting with the owl carcass on the floor, until finally reaching the point where it started from, creating a sort of shining tetragon between these four focal points.

"_Anno lín balan!_" Harry yelled, as he drew the final activation rune beneath the previous one and connected them with a line of blood.

Suddenly, the pentagram lit up with red light, as the wizard's and the owl's joint magic slowly leaked out and spread through the runic maze encompassing it. Shiny trails of power converged and diverged, dancing through the arcane arabesque of canals and stations. Runes and focal points were lit up one after another, each one making their own small but equally important alteration to the magic passing through it. Seeds blossomed into young sprouts, grown up plants withered away, while multicoloured ritualistic candles lit up and burned down, releasing their own potions into the lines that had powered them up. Harry watched with fascination as the Elven runic scheme juggled the magic with utmost precision and single-minded purposefulness, slowly but surely tweaking it towards the desired results.

Suddenly, the circle of white candles around the blood pentagram stifled out, indicating that the arithmetically calculated dance of magic and power was coming to an end. Wind slowed down and runic patterns dimmed one after another, having performed their purpose, while rivers of magic converged back towards the centre of the pentagram. Even though the lines shone brighter and brighter as they merged on their way back, their glow somehow never breached the darkness that gradually swallowed the furthest extinguished areas of the scheme. A dozen canals of light became six, then three. Finally, even the crimson light of the pentagram died out, leaving only a bright circle of magic surrounding Harry in the dead silence of the darkness.

Everything remained still for a moment, as if the ritual was gathering strength for one final push. The pause ended when the circle of light split up behind Harry's back. Two ends of the newly formed arc slowly retracted past Harry's sides and converged into a globe of magic concentrated in the main connection rune - the place where the whole juggling act had first started. The globe danced in place for a moment or two, and then it too begun to fade.

At first, Harry was afraid that something had gone wrong and that the ritual had failed. But then, he felt it; an encompassing, almost suffocating sheen of magic rising through the darkness.

For a moment, all Harry could feel was the heavy weight of magic on his skin and frantic beating of his heart. And then, out of nowhere, the room exploded with light and sound.

A tornado of wild magic lifted up the dazed wizard, holding him suspended in front of what could have only been a sun dancing before his blinded eyes. He regained his senses just in time to see the glowing ball of magic rush towards him and enter his body right through the soul rune on his chest. He felt excruciating, all-consuming pain of the cleansing magic spreading through his veins, before be blacked out into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

It took Harry several minutes of blinking his eyes and stretching over the stone floor to realize that he had indeed regained his consciousness. The room was plunged in such darkness, that he was forced to touch his eyelids to make sure they were truly open.

Groggily, he raised his hand and yelled "Lumos!" He quickly covered his dilated irises against a painful ray of light exploding from where he had left his wand earlier. He tiredly crawled towards the flare, not caring if he stomped over the spent candles and shrivelled plants, and blindly felt the floor for his wand. Once he finally had it, he dimmed the flashlight and slowly tuned it back up, giving his eyes a chance to adjust.

A few minutes later, he was finally able to properly inspect the chamber. As expected, there wasn't much left of the school material he had used; burned down shrubs, piles of melted wax, faded rune imprints on the floor and one dead owl in the middle of it - all signs of a successfully performed ritual.

_Successful,_ the word suddenly registered in his mind. _Have I actually done it? Have I cleansed myself?_

He quickly patted his body, making sure all his favourite organs were in place. Everything felt the same as before, and yet, somehow different. Trying to put a word to it, he realized he felt _good_. More than just good, he never felt better in his life! His mind was clear, his body fresh and his magic stronger than ever. It was bloody fantastic, being truly free for the first time in his life.

Laughing like a maniac, he started dancing around the chamber, casting all the spells he used to have problems with and noticing an immediate improvement. Double-transfigurations, silent casting, trick draws that ended with his wand sailing across the room - it didn't matter. Life was great, magic was great and better be bloody well damn sure Harry Potter was great too!

For the first time this summer, Harry thought about the future without feeling like he was planning his own funeral. He was confident he would finally manage to grasp the threads of his messed up life and grow into the mould destiny had made him. Without the constant haze of mind blocks clouding his brain, he suddenly understood the message the Prophecy was trying to tell him. He was never meant to be just an ordinary kid, who would grow up into an ordinary wizard, marry early on, have a bunch of children and retire after 60 years of public service. On the contrary, he was a powerful, resourceful and smart wizard, Voldemort's equal in every sense of that word. Without blocks, wards and traitors holding him down, only the sky was his limit.

And at that moment, Harry _knew_, without a shadow of a doubt, that he _could_ accomplish his destiny, his central purpose in life. He would throw away the shackles of his traitorous minders and train himself into the force he was destined to become. And then, Voldemort and his ex friends would rue the day they had dared to cross him.

"But first, what do I do now?" he thought, reigning in his newfound enthusiasm and putting his mind to the matter at hand. He shouldn't have bothered, as it turned out Yin & Yang had apparently thought of everything. Somehow, while Harry was passed out, a large fluorescent Yin & Yang symbol had appeared on one of the chamber walls. Beneath it, a new enigmatic message greeted the confused wizard.

• • • • •

_You have seen much and gone through a lot. But are you ready for the final step of your journey? Do you dare cut out the last ties to your old self and step into a new life?_

_There's a secret compartment behind the desk in the Headmaster's office. Tap the third brick from the left column, seventh from the floor. The password is "lollypops"._

_If all goes as planned, this is the last of these messages you'll see for a long time, possibly forever. Good luck Harry Potter, and have a safe journey._

• • • • •

Intrigued, Harry approached the wall and dipped his finger in the fluorescent yellow powder. _Bloody hell, it's the lumospell dust,_ he realized with a start. _So that's how they did it!_

Lumospell was a substance mainly used by Auror inspectors, to detect traces of magic on crime scenes. Its colour would normally be stone grey, which was why Harry hadn't spotted the message before. It took the tremendous amount of magic released during the ritual to cause the thin sheen of lumospell to glow.

"Ingenious," Harry murmured with appreciation. Even though Lumospell wasn't very difficult to make, it was a substance so specialized, that it was barely even mentioned in the Hogwarts curriculum.

Wiping his hand clean off the yellow dust, Harry looked at his wrist watch and gasped when he saw he'd been unconscious for nearly 12 hours.

_I have only an hour or two before the traitors arrive to take me away,_ he thought, while quickly packing up his few belongings into his school bag and wiping the message clean off the wall. _Just enough time for me to raid Dumbledore's office, and get lost from this dump, hopefully for a long, long time._

* * *

Only once he reached the guardian Gargoyle did Harry realize he ever asked for the password to the headmistress' office. He somehow doubted McGonagall would have kept Dumbledore's old candy password, regardless of how much respect she held for the man.

"Err, I don't suppose you could just let me in?" Harry asked the guardian. "I didn't think so," he murmured after a few moments of silence.

_Hmm, what would a woman like McGonagall pick for her password? Some Quidditch term, a famous quote, or perhaps a species of cat..._

"Egyptian Mau!" he suddenly blurted out and jumped back in surprise when the passage opened.

_I must have overheard McGonagall say it in the passing, and then forgot all about it, until the ritual improved my memory. Being smart kicks ass!_ he thought jubilantly, as he stepped on the sliding stairs.

A short ride latter he was knocking on the door to McGonagall's office.

"Come in," Harry heard the headmistress' distracted voice, before he timidly stepped into the office.

"Ahh, Mr. Potter. I'm glad to see you've finally decided to come out of hiding. I was just about to organize a search party for you," she said, as she directed him towards a baroque-styled chair in front of her desk.

"Hello to you too, professor," Harry nodded as he set down, managing a tight smile. "I apologize for not coming to see you sooner, I've been awfully busy these past few days."

"Quite alright Harry, I'm sure you had your reasons," McGonagall said lightly, as she took a cookie jar from her desk and offered it to Harry. "Biscuit?"

"No thank you," he waved her off, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. He rather missed Dumbledore's squishy armchairs, even if he didn't miss the man himself - well, not anymore.

While McGonagall was busy with the cookie jar, which she almost dropped from her inexperienced hands, Harry took a moment to inspect the office. To his delight, the room remained almost exactly the same as he remembered it - stricter furniture and a few less knickknacks on the shelves were the only noticeable differences. However, what caught Harry's attention the most was a portrait of Albus Dumbledore, haphazardly left in the corner of the room, in a pile of torn wrapping paper. It had obviously arrived by post just hours ago.

A pang of fear shot through Harry's chest. _I can't open the secret compartment while the old goat is around,_ he panicked, before he noticed the character in the canvas was as asleep as he had been the first time he saw it.

"The painter had returned the canvas just this morning," McGonagall explained, seeing Harry's interest. "They still can't decipher what's wrong with it. Everything is fine with the magic, they say, but he just... can't seem to wake up."

Harry was about to force a respectfully subdued nod in response, when a terrible realization struck him. "Professor... you don't think... that he could still..."

"Be alive?" McGonagall's head snapped at that, looking at Harry suspiciously, before she sighed sadly in response. "No, Mr. Potter. As great of a wizard as he used to be, I'm quite sure even he couldn't beat death."

Harry nodded dejectedly, while he was internally sighing in relief. _And good riddance,_ he added mentally.

McGonagall seemingly had something more to add, but then she changed her mind and formed an obviously faked expression of friendliness on her face. "So _Harry_," she started in an amiable tone, which immediately raised a few red flags in Harry's mind. "Judging by your absence from meals and other functions, I gather you've been rather busy with this project of yours."

"I have," Harry answered carefully, somewhat freaked out by the usually strict teacher's eerie behaviour. He decided he should better sweet-talk her somewhat before asking her to leave him alone in her office. He had a feeling such a request wouldn't go over very well with the old bird. "And I'd like to thank you for helping me out with it. I really appreciate your cooperation, professor."

"Oh, think nothing of it, my dear boy," she waved him off and chuckled amiably.

_'My dear boy'? McGonagall chuckling!?_ Harry's brain screamed. _Oh, no. I have a feeling where this is going._

"It is my duty to help anyone working against V-V-Voldemort, and especially one of my best students," McGonagall went on, shaking her head sadly. "My only regret is that I haven't been able to do more."

_Ahh, here we are,_ thought Harry.

"Oh, don't worry about that, ma'am. Everything went along just fine even without your help."

"It has? Strange," McGonagall mulled. "I could have sworn I've overheard house elves talking about some sort of incident in the potions classroom."

Harry resisted an urge to roll his eyes. _McGonagall acting all suave and crafty? God help us. She's like an elephant in a glass store,_ he thought amusedly.

"Yes, I had a minor mishap there a few days ago. Don't worry about it professor, I made sure to give the elves enough money to cover the damage. They seemed delighted to finally have some work," he chuckled. He remembered that, for some reason, neither Dobby nor Kreacher were around, so he had to do it during one of his regular raids to the kitchen.

"But still, you could have gotten hurt, or worse," she leaned in concernedly. "I'm afraid I cannot condone any more of these dangerous experiments without the supervision of someone more experienced with these matters. I, for instance, would be more than delighted to assist you with anything you need, Harry."

Fighting down a laugh at McGonagall's pathetic mockery of Dumbledore's style, Harry managed to nod in response. "You're quite correct, professor. I agree that my potion brewing would have been much easier with some sort of guidance at hand." He watched amusedly as a self-satisfied smile formed on the old bat's face. "But luckily, I'm all done with experiments and potions for the time being, so I really won't be needing any _adult_ supervision or Hogwarts' facilities anymore."

McGonagall obviously struggled to form some sort of reply, before slumping in defeat. "Mr. Potter, haven't you gotten tired of this game already? Because I certainly have," she admitted with a sigh.

Harry suddenly felt a pang of sympathy towards the new headmistress, just now realizing how drained she actually looked. _She must have been under a lot of pressure these past few weeks,_ he mused. _Trying to fill in Dumbledore's shoes, even though everybody, including herself, knows she's not even close to the calibre of wizard the old man used to be. Kind of like myself up until a few days ago._

Angered by the reminder of his pathetic ignorance and malleability, he squashed any pity he was beginning to feel towards the headmistress.

_Let the old bat suffocate under her new titles, see if I care. After being Dumbledore's bitch for so long, she must know at least something about the conspiracy he was weaving against me._

"I'm well aware of what you want to know professor," Harry said carefully, wary of this new change in McGonagall's behaviour. He still needed her cooperation to examine the contest of Dumbledore's safe. "But I'm afraid my answer remains the same. You have your own duties to perform and I have mine. We all do what we must, and not-"

"Mr. Potter," she interrupted him curtly. "Be that as it may, the fact remains that I'm the headmistress of this institution and the new head of the Order of the Phoenix, while you're still a mere student under my supervision," she said sternly. Having dropped her Dumbledorish mask, which obviously needed some more work, she easily reverted to her well-practiced 'prim and proper teacher' mode. "I believe I've given you more than enough leeway in this matter, even agreeing to play these silly games with you. But enough is enough. Potter, I _demand_ to be told what you are up to. As professor Dumbledore's successor, it is my duty to know!"

At that exact moment, Harry realized that any chance he had at gaining McGonagall cooperation had just been ruined. _As soon as she learns there's something important in Dumbledore's secret safe, she'll never allow me to retrieve in on my own,_ Harry mused, already plotting a new approach. Finally, he made his choice.

"Very well professor," he sighed in defeat. "It's a... spell I've been working on."

"A spell?" McGonagall leaned in eagerly. "What spell?"

"Here, let me show you," Harry said as he pulled out his wand.

"What's the name of the spell? Maybe I've heard about it?" McGonagall asked, looking eager to prove she could indeed be of some help with the research.

"I'm sorry."

"What kind of name is that, Pott-"

"_Stupefy!_"

McGonagall's body quivered, as if hit by electricity, before stumbling over the desk.

Harry knew he didn't have much time before his _'minders'_ came to pick him up. Stunning McGonagall once again for good measure, he swiftly walked behind her desk and tapped the brick indicated in Yin & Yang's last message. The bricked wall melted and reformed into a stone statue in the shape of a lion's head. _Yin-Yang is never wrong,_ Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Lollypops," Harry said to the guardian. The lion nodded in confirmation, before opening his mouth so wide, that the jaws completely covered his head, before melting into the wall. What used to be the lion's maw was now a heavy oak door. Amazed by the quality of transfiguration, Harry opened the newly revealed safe.

The first thing that caught his eye was the time turner Hermione had used three years ago.

_So it's Dumbledore's own personal time-turner after all,_ he mused. _Why he had made us believe it was some sort of school policy for children to receive time-turners if their schedule is too tight?_

Shrugging, he took the golden chain and put it around his neck. He had a strange feeling that item would become a crucial part of plan, even though he didn't have one yet.

The next thing he examined was a pile of twenty or so expensive-looking books. Horcruxes, transfiguration, alchemy, duelling, even a couple of dark arts books. "Jackpot," Harry smirked, realizing he had just uncovered crème de la crème of Dumbledore's personal collection.

Separate from the books, Harry found a thick red notebook, hugging the cupboard's wall. A flowery golden caption on the cover read "Albus Dumbledore - the journal". Intrigued, he started leafing through it, only vaguely noting that the first page had been torn off.

Five minutes later, he closed the journal with a stunned expression on his face. If the pile of rare books was a stroke of luck, this was nothing less than a blessing from God himself. Page after page of Dumbledore's neat script detailed absolutely everything one would need to know on a quest for knowledge - from favoured hotels and local sights, over various masters and their quirks and quirks, to shady contacts in the underground.

At first, Harry was afraid that most of the information would be outdated, having originated from when Dumbledore was getting ready to face his own dark lord nemesis, 50 years ago. However, upon further inspection, it turned out the last third of the journal consisted of addendums made throughout the decades after the initial trip - who replaced whom in the underworld, current prices of contrabands, legal holes in the laws Dumbledore had helped write and such. The headmaster had obviously made an effort to keep the information at least moderately current, for which Harry was truly grateful.

_This almost makes up for the stolen galleons, _he chuckled, putting the journal in his backpack. _Too bad the old man hadn't simply sold me a copy, if he needed the money that much._

But his forgiving mood was dispersed as soon as he examined the last item left in the vault. It was another notebook, this time rather plain-looking and of an obvious muggle make. A typewritten label on the military green cover was disturbing, to say the least: _"Mind control: Command word implantation by means of hypnosis, metacommunication and sleep depravation, by Josef Mengele (1944)"_

With a strange feeling of dread in his stomach, Harry opened the notebook to its first page. It contained only a short note, written in a neat, mechanic script of a dictato-quill.

_Probably Dumbledore trying to cover his tracks,_ Harry thought, as he proceeded to read the message.

• • • • •

_To whomever finds this message..._

_My dear friend or ally,_

_If you're reading this, it means that Harry Potter has gotten out of my control and I'm unable to reign him back in, by being either dead or otherwise indisposed. You have been granted access to this document for one purpose only - to be informed of the ultimate weapon against Harry Potter, the one which would hopefully prevent his uprising as the new Dark Lord._

_What you're holding now is a rather fascinating muggle study I've discovered while searching through the files of the late Josef Mengele, also known as Lord Grindelwald. Cutting through the incomprehensible science jargon, it's enough to say that this study's main subject is theory and methodology for applying a non-magical replacement of the Imperius curse._

_This fantastic feat is achieved through carefully orchestrated implementation of hypnosis, sleep deprivation, starvation, derogation and enclosure in small spaces, as well as a certain number of mild mind-conditioning spells. The final product of the therapy is a person who acts normally in every way, until he or she hears one of the specific command phrases set up during the training process. At that moment, the subject's consciousness experiences a complete shutdown, while their brain is pushed into a highly-suggestive state. During the next 15 to 20 minutes, the subject is placed under a complete verbal control of the voice that has issued the command word, being forced to perform simple orders to the best of his or hers abilities._

_Be mindful that, once the conditioning process is over, there's nothing magical about the application of this technique. The cortex is simply permanently reconfigured to act this way, and there's not a potion or a spell in the world able to change or prevent it._

_At this point, I would like to inform you that Harry James Potter had been subjected to this treatment._

• • • • •

The weight that was slowly settling in Harry's stomach suddenly gained another hundred pounds, sinking all the way down into his legs, before exploding into a torrent of rage.

"That fucking bastard!" he screamed, throwing the notebook across the room.

What followed made Harry's temper tantrum from a year ago seem like a gentle summer breeze. Five minutes of mindless destruction latter, there wasn't a thing in McGonagall's office left untouched. Papers were shredded and thrown all over the floor, instruments and magical objects lay in pieces, while a few chairs and one bookshelf were sent flying through the tower's large panoramic window.

Amidst all this mess, Harry Potter lay cuddled in the corner, staring blankly at the floor.

_I was free! Finally free of those bastards' control. And now this!_ he brooded. _However good I become, however high I climb, they'll always have a way of bringing me down. It's just not fair! Not fucking fair!_

He thought back to that moment just after the ritual and morosely lamented how he would never again experience such bliss. And then, he suddenly realized nothing has changed on his trip from the Chamber to McGonagall's office. He was still that same person, still equally smart and powerful and as liberated as he was an hour ago.

_No! This is what the old me would have done - wailing in despair and giving up on the first obstacle_, he sniffed, wiping away last traces of frustrated tears from his eyes. _But this is the new me! I'm smart and I'm powerful and I won't let them get me like this._

"I won't let them get me this easily," he said through clenched teeth as he stood up, a new determination shining in his eyes. "You hear that, bitch," he yelled at McGonagall's unconscious form buried under a pile of shredded first year letters. "I'm not giving up! I'll fight against this shit you did to me and I'll fucking win, even if it means killing every last one of you motherfucking traitors! You hear that, you stuck-up Dumbledore-wannabe whore! I'll win!"

As if to prove his point, Harry purposefully stomped across the room and fished out Mengele's study notebook from under one of the overturned chairs. He found Dumbledore's accursed message and started reading from where he had left off, determined not to lose his temper again.

• • • • •

_At this point, I would like to inform you that Harry James Potter had been subjected to this treatment._

_For security reasons, Mr. Potter's command words are not listed inside this document. Instead, they were distributed to a certain number of my most trusted allies and friends, who were instructed to spread them out in case something happens to me. You should expect one of them to approach you any day after reading this message and ask you a question about some random titbit of information mentioned in this note or a number of similar ones I've arranged to be distributed in the case of my death. Unless there's a true emergency, only after successfully answering this question, proving you have read this message, will you be given the final piece of this puzzle._

_I have now given you some general information about this technique and the method of its application. The specifics of the technique itself, however, I have decided to keep to myself. This study has been charmed with my personal modification of one of the best security charm known to wizardkind. To everyone else but myself, pages of this notebook will appear completely empty._

_I have chosen these harsh security measures in hope of preventing further spreading of this dangerous knowledge. It is my intention to see that this terrible power dies with me._

_I only hope you will respect my wishes regarding this document and use the power given by it in a wise and thoughtful manner._

_Your commander, ally and friend,_

_AD_

• • • • •

Harry quickly leafed through the rest of the notebook and made sure all the pages indeed appeared blank. He didn't even try to cast his meagre arsenal of schoolyard detection charms - Albus Dumbledore was many things, but incompetent definitely not. Struggling to keep his temper in check, he closed the notebook and threw it into his backpack, not trusting himself with looking at it any longer.

_Ok, calm yourself Potter and use this brand new brainpower of yours,_ he admonished himself, as he stepped over McGonagall's body and plopped down into her comfy armchair. _It's not all bad news. I'll just have to stay clear of my ex friends or any Order member at all. I can never be too sure who of them had been told the command words._

Going through the day's events objectively, Harry acknowledged that, mind control or not, the good still far outweighed the bad. With Dumbledore's journal, a time-turner and a heap of rare books, he started seeing a whole new world of opportunities opening up to him. Things he would have had to work hard for, like finding books and contacts, were now available to him by just looking in his backpack. This would immensely cut down the time he would need to spend on logistics. And just thinking of _time_ gave him an additional idea or two.

An eager smile began blossoming on his face as he started piecing together aspects of his plan, with certainty and familiarity he had never believed possible. Pieces of the puzzle flew to their proper places, like they were always meant to be there. It was almost as if the hand of Fate was guiding him towards this inevitable crossroads, giving him the feeling that each and every decision he had ever made in his life had a singular purpose of bringing him a step closer to this one moment, the true goal of his life.

And suddenly, his path became absolutely clear to him, like a dark tunnel stretching before him into the uncertain future. He was standing before the maw of a monster that would swallow him whole and hopefully spit out a better, stronger man. He knew the road ahead of him would be rough and filled with danger, but he also knew he would never back down from it. And it wasn't because he was unnaturally brave or resilient, but because there was simply no alternative other than the slow decay in the hands of the traitors. Harry Potter knew that, from this point onward, he would either make himself and survive, or break down and perish.

"Minerva! Minerva, open up, we don't know the password!" Kingsley's voice suddenly boomed from one of the overturned silver instruments on the floor.

"Shit, they came in early," Harry cursed as he hastily packed up the last few items into his bag.

"Dobby! Kreacher!" he tried to call in his house elves one last time, but once again, it was to no avail.

_Fuck them! They are probably working for them as well... Just another bunch of traitorous little rats,_ he grumbled, as he threw the packed bag over his shoulder.

"Minerva, are you alright!? One of the paintings told us you were attacked!? Minerva!?"

_Shit! The paintings! I've totally forgotten about them,_ Harry cursed mentally, throwing a dirty look at the empty frames where old headmasters used to reside. _Well, no time for crying over spilt milk._

His eyes scanned over the room, looking for a way out. The solution was obvious.

_The window?_ he smirked. _Why the fuck not?_

Quickly, he took his trustworthy Firebolt out of his backpack and allowed it to resize.

"Minerva, I'm using the Auror override! Hang on, we're coming!" Shacklebolt yelled over the noise of the Gargoyle moving out of the way.

Harry stepped to the edge of the window and pushed himself off. He ignored the sound of the door breaking open behind him, as he soared over the Headmistress' tower and zoomed south, out of the school grounds.

The traitors would eventually get what was coming to them. But until then, he had one long trip to undertake.

* * *

**Author notes**

You may have noticed I've blatantly used several well-established clichés, like Dumbledore and co stealing Harry's money, power blocks, time-turner and such. I advise you to keep reading for two reasons:

1) These are not very important concepts in this story, I won't spend much time and effort working them out.

2) There's a plan, a higher purpose behind this. These are just means to an end (you'll see what I mean in the 4th and 5th chapter).

**NOTE** - Version from June 2008. Still no fundamental changes, but hopefully easier to read.

**o - Elven translations**

Instead of inventing my own gibberish, I decided to use some elements of Tolkien's universe for the purpose of setting up the ritual. Namely, I've used Elves, Elven deities (Valar) and one of Elven language (Sindarin).

Below are the translations from the ritual. Notice that these are extremely rough, piggish sentences, made by simply extracting translations from "Dragon Flame", a freeware Sindarin dictionary.

_Faer ned uireb taur, im can-le.  
_(Spirits of the eternal forest, I call thee.)

Beleg Estë, nestas ned lhaew, im baur le.  
(Great Estë, healer of ill, I need thee.)

_Beleg Estë, teli a cenedril nín ant._  
(Great Estë, come and see my gift.)

Lasto nín cane.  
(Hear my call.)

_Faer ned uireb taur, im anna nín rhaw!  
_(Spirits of the eternal forest, I offer my body to thee.)

_Beleg Estë, im anna le seri aew.  
_(Great Estë, I offer thee the spirit of this bird.)

_Beleg Estë, im anna nín faer!  
_(Great Estë, I offer my soul to thee.)

_Beleg Estë, im aníra lín galu!  
_(Great Estë, I ask for thy blessing.)

_Anno lín balan!  
_(Show your might!)

**o - Credits and acknowledgments**

I'd like to thank my beta **Athenia** for doing a great job at fixing my grammar and spelling, as well as **Jbern** for giving me valuable pointers about characterization and plot.

**o - Sources and additional disclaimers**

All elements of Elven lore and language are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, his inheritors and various companies that had bought off pieces of this franchise over the years.

Nice and simple overview of different mind control techniques I've nicked from here:

meta-religion com/Newreligiousgroups/Articles/Criticism/mindcontroltechniques htm

Sindarin translations are made by using software found here:

www jrrvf com/hisweloke/sindar/df20 html

Encyclopaedias I've used for reference are Britannica 2005 and Wikipedia (www wikipedia org).

To access links, replace empty spaces (' ') with dots ('.').

I don't own any intellectual property mentioned above.


	2. A toast for the Hero’s return

* * *

**Yin and Yang**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - A toast for the Hero's return**

The morning of 29th August 1998 dawned bright and shiny. A gentle summer breeze was ruffling the grass of a forest clearing, in the centre of which stood a dilapidated wooden house known as the Burrow. But the cheerful buzzing of nature suddenly quieted down as a tall lean figure emerged from the tree line. A quick flicker of morning sunlight revealed a pair of emerald green eyes and lightning bolt shaped scar on a pale forehead.

"Home sweet home." the man murmured, a toothpick clenched between his teeth dancing as he spoke.

His mouth stretched into a sarcastic smile, as if savouring the irony behind his words. But then, the smile disappeared and the figure retreated back into the veil of tree canopy shadows. After all, it wouldn't do for the world to learn of Harry Potter's return before the time was right.

Even if the Burrow's occupants happened to look his way, they would have been hard pressed to recognize their misplaced charge in form of this ominous lurker. The picture of Harry Potter they kept in their minds was that of a gaunt, geeky-looking boy. The Harry Potter who was observing their base of operations today was a gracefully lean man, whose very stance extruded power and competence. He may have appeared relaxed and nonchalant to an untrained eye, but a careful observer would have easily recognized his taut, watchful posture for what it truly was – that of a predator lying in wait.

Even more startling were the differences in the once-boy's features. His lightning bolt-shaped scar, messy black hair and emerald green eyes were still there, but like misplaced pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, they now formed a startlingly different picture. His simple black robes looked worn and many times patched, but glowing runes along the stitches were obviously well maintained and fully operational. His eyes, no longer hidden behind bulky glasses, shone with calm confidence, the kind that could only appear when backed by hard-won experience. The lines of his pale face were strangely deep, as if weathered by more time than it could have passed since his disappearance. With a faded scar over his right cheek and a toothpick nervously dancing between his teeth, it became apparent that Harry Potter had been through more hardships over the past year than even the Fate's favourite whipping boy had any right to.

The answer to this discrepancy lay in a peculiar hourglass-shaped object handing on a chain around his neck. During the past 13 months since his disappearance, Harry had celebrated not one but five birthdays. And each one of them he spent in exactly the same fashion. He would travel to a different part of the world, lock himself up in some isolated location and spin the dial of his time-turner until his hand turned blue. Twelve turns of the hourglass to travel twelve hours back in time, times two to complete the day and then times 365 for the entire year makes one hell of a lot of turns.

All these hours spent by painstakingly repeating one and the same tedious hand motion were not for naught. Each stolen year Harry had spent by crisscrossing the part of the wizarding world he was currently in, zealously seeking out underground contacts and tutors mentioned in Dumbledore's notes.

Even with his stolen guidebook and practically unlimited supplies of money he had secured once his vaults were placed under his control, his quest was far from a walk in the park. Many of the masters and contacts Harry had come across were wary of taking a shady student who insisted on keeping his identity secret. His constant need for secrecy and haste was far from endearing for arrogant masters, used to seeing students bow to their every whim. It was only Harry's undisputable magical talent, relentless determination and deep pockets that managed to get him some of the posts he had aimed for.

Of course, Harry had little choice when it came to the matters of secrecy, seeing how four other copies of himself were rummaging through their own designated areas of the globe at any given moment in time. He was painfully aware that even a smallest hint of what one of his future selves was up to could upset the delicate balance of cause and effect, puncturing a hole through the very fabric of space-time continuum.

That is not to say that one-way communication wasn't possible. In fact, sending a coded request for distraction to one of his future copies had gotten the Order's, Scrimgeour's or Voldemort's agents off Harry's tail more than once. The only thing he had to do was post a coded message in the Global Prophet's yellow pages. As soon as his immediate future self deciphered the code, he would create what they dubbed 'a genuine Harry Potter sighting', which usually amounted to accessing one of the international Potter accounts from a local Gringotts branch. The Goblin informants would immediately notify the trackers, which would then predictably rush after the new trail, abandoning their previous pursuit. The Harry who had sent the message then only had to erase his tracks, silence a witness or two and disappear into the night. By the time the foolish investigators realized they had been duped, their previous trail would be long gone. Naturally, as soon as the danger was over, Harry would always Oblivate himself from the memory of sending the message, thus keeping the integrity of the timeline intact. By the time Harry went back to 1997 for the fifth time, he became so well versed with covering up his tracks, that he wasn't much bothered by his inability to use this tactic anymore. That's not to say that he wasn't more than glad to help out his one year younger self when the 'Junior' got cornered by Scrimgeour's mercenaries on his journey through Japan.

The only downside of Harry's slippery appearances all around the world was further inflation of myths and intrigue surrounding his name. After six months of daily reports and sensationalistic articles, it seemed that all the people were talking about was the mystery surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. Where was he? What was he doing? Will he come back? Was he even human anymore? Voldemort's suspicious silence only added to these rumours, elevating Harry Potter's fame to the heights never seen before.

And while the 17 year old Harry barely starting his adventure was mortified by new and new legions of fans and worshipers inexplicitly getting added to his flock, his 5 years older self was too busy plotting how this development could be best used to his own advantage. Behind the mocking leer he would present to the Prophet articles and people spreading these rumours, his mind remained a closed book, jealously keeping his cold calculations and world-weary cynical attitude to himself.

The Gryffindor Golden Boy had been a nice, if somewhat noisy kid, with a strong hero complex. Even though his childhood was far from an easy one, he still held a firm moral grounding, as well as a certain dose of childish naivety. The man he had grown into had little to none of his old innocence left. After all, practicing the Dark Arts, performing sacrificial rituals and purposefully murdering and torturing people tends to mature even the most good-hearted child rather swiftly.

For five long years Harry had been slowly sinking deeper and deeper in the dark dredges of the wizarding society, relentlessly gathering the strength and knowledge needed for the completion of his destiny and revenge on all those who had wronged him. He had gradually discarded the last vestiges of his old beliefs and values and greedily latched on to the new, darker ones, regardless of the consequences. After all, what's the point of valuing friendship, when his friends had forsaken him? What's the point of obeying the basic, unspoken rules of humanity, when the society had neglected him? What's the point of seeking love, when he had never experienced it? Pain, suffering and ambition, on the other hand, he knew quite well.

That's why he found it surprisingly easy to make those initial baby steps towards accepting his inner darkness. And as always, after his first deals with the Devil were made, the subsequent downwards slide was well known and almost completely irreversible. Deceitful innocence of his initial compromises had quickly turned into a total disregard of all established norms of behaviour. Sacrifice of animals or human beings, usage of distracting or lethal dark curses, self-defensive combat or callous execution of captured adversaries... For Harry Potter, it all became a blur of detached, cold-hearted decisions, made with the sole purpose of obtaining new and new scrapes of power, on his quest for vengeance and fulfilment of his destiny.

And now, all the sacrifices Harry had made would finally bear fruit. Four and a half long years he had spent travelling the globe, gathering knowledge and power he would need to fulfil his mission. Having finally deemed his combat skills ready, he secretly returned to his homeland and started executing his carefully laid out plans for bringing the end of Voldemort's reign.

Thus, while common folks were still caught up in hopeful fairytales about their so-called saviour's sightings around the globe, less prominent circles started whispering about a new player on the field. A mysterious dark wizard started systematically tracking down the most prominent Death Eaters, members of Voldemort's Inner Circle and openly attacking them. And _losing_, which was the strangest aspect of the story. Time and time again, this stubborn sorcerer would masterfully locate and isolate an Inner Circle member, only to get soundly thrashed in a magical combat and end up running away with his tail between his legs.

This, mildly said, unorthodox tactic was what had aroused so much interest in the first place. The whole underground seemed to be theorising who was this weird newcomer? Why was he starting fights he couldn't win? What was his _true_ agenda? Some thought he was merely testing the waters, trying to gauge the true power of the Dark Lord's forces. Others claimed he was in fact looking for one particular death eater, leaving everyone else out of it. The more romantically inclined rascals were weaving stories about a renegade prince trying to impress his true love, who had placed herself under the Dark Lord's command. An allegedly reliable rumour even had it that this new player was the real reason behind Voldemort's sudden silence and not Harry Potter, as the proper channels claimed.

Harry, on his end, found it particularly ironic that both sides were in fact right. He was, however, more than content to let the sheep speculate to their hearts' desire. Only he was aware of the larger plan unfolding before their eyes. Only he knew that each carefully calculated move was bringing him one step closer to the final reckoning he's been planning for more than half a decade.

Now, nearly eight months after his return, almost all the stepping stones of Harry's plan were firmly set in place. Only two last obstacles remained before the final battle - Voldemort's last Horcrux and the command words implanted in his subconscious. Today, he would hopefully smack both of these annoying flies with one strike.

With that thought, Harry ended his reminiscences, and brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He carefully inspected a rundown wooden house, barely standing together some one hundred meters away from him, in the middle of a forest glade. The unsteady, hive-like structure was surrounded by a small garden, a pen, and a few auxiliary sheds, with only an overgrown dirt road leading to the main street of Ottery St. Catchpole village it was nominally a part of.

"The Burrow... the same old shithole," Harry murmured snidely, clenching his toothpick even harder as he absentmindedly waved his wand, placing himself under the effect of an advanced invisibility spell.

A closer inspection revealed that the household was actually slightly different from what Harry remembered during his last visit, six years ago. The backyard was now sporting a large cauldron placed on a pyre behind the tool shed and a long table, stretching along the entire backside of the house. The side field sported several rows of uncomfortable looking benches, in front of which stood an elevated circular platform. The only addition on the house itself was a new cubic section in its hive-like structure. Still, even with all this permanent and temporary changes, the Burrow still radiated an air of the same idyllic, if slightly unorthodox, old-fashioned countryside household Harry remembered from his childhood.

However, any illusions he might have had about the Burrow's apparent harmlessness were blown away by a simple long-range detection spell. Harry's wand lit up like a Christmas tree, indicating a 20 meters wide ring of layered wards, starting some 10 meters from the edge of the woods.

Harry smirked, pleased that his information was proven correct. Unusually strong barrage of wards could mean only one thing - the Burrow had become the new headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

_So the whole Order will probably be there when I strike,_ he concluded with some satisfaction, the kind he experienced every time pieces of his plan would neatly fall together. _But why are they keeping it in there? Do they even know they have it?_

"Better make sure the damn thing is truly there," he murmured, as he waved his wand over his scar and, for what seemed like a hundredth time, cast one of the only two spells he had crafted during his travels. His customized Horcrux locator charm quickly latched on to the soul magic residues in his forehead and used them to locate all the soul fragments of the wizard who had cast the curse. Two emerald green rays of light visible only to Harry shot out of his curse scar and zoomed over the countryside. One stretched all the way to the northern horizon, leading on to Voldemort's base of operations, somewhere in western Scotland. The other beam shot straight forwards, disappearing inside the harmless looking house in front of him. Harry ended the locator spell and nodded to himself, mentally confirming his previous conclusions. Slytherin's locket, Voldemort's last surviving Horcrux, was being kept somewhere inside the Burrow.

Harry couldn't help but appreciate ironic twists and turns Fate had woven around this particular item. By all logical standards, Slytherin's locket should have been the easiest Horcrux to locate and destroy. The old bastard Dumbledore had systematically followed its trail through a procession of dubious hands, finally tracing it down to a cave on the England's southern coast. But just when it seemed the accursed thing was finally within Harry's grasp, it slipped away like a wet soap, disappearing without a trace along with its mysterious thief, self titled R.A.B. At the end of the quest, all he had to show for his effort was, as it turned out, Regulus Alphard Black's amusing but useless message and the death of one of the world's most powerful wizards. Not that it was a bad thing, now that he thought about it.

It took Harry five long years of training, including the construction of his own locator spell, before he was finally able to track down the real locket. His elation was, however, stifled out when he realized the accursed thing was surrounded by the most formidable defences he could have possibly encountered, sans Voldemort himself.

Five years ago, he and Dumbledore could have simply waltzed into the Burrow, had some tea and scones with the Weasleys, retrieved the Horcrux, wherever it was, and went on their merry way. But thanks to Yin-Yang's wake-up call, his target was now at all times surrounded by dozens of hostile wizards, any one of whom could completely disable him with a single command word whispered into his ear. He didn't know whether to cry, curse, or simply applaud to Fate's impeccable sense of irony.

_Neither,_ he told himself. _I'll grit my teeth and get the fucking job done, like I always do! Today is the perfect chance I've been waiting for and I'll damn well make the most of it. I refuse to spend another day of my life hiding like a rat!_

Determination swelling inside him, Harry disillusioned himself and snuck in for a closer inspection. Slowly and carefully he crawled along the entire perimeter of the wards, casting precise detection spells every few steps. It took him almost an hour of meticulous work to make the full circle and get back from where he had started. As he retreated back into the woods, he mulled over the results, compiling a complete picture of the Burrow's defences in his mind.

As expected, the warded zone surrounding the property made for one very respectful layer of defences, considering they were of the unobtrusive kind. Visual and sound alarms, anti-travelling wards and automated defences were all tied up to a set of tri-polar sensors, consisting of blood scanners, dark detectors and mental probes.

"Nice work, Bill," Harry sneered at the most likely creator of defences. "Perfect little light-sided, neighbour-friendly set of wards."

Even through his disdain for the lack of proper lethal fortifications he had gotten used to during his half year long apprenticeship with a Siberian rouge ataman, Harry was well aware the challenge ahead was nothing to laugh at. As is usual with law-abiding dwellings, the main problem weren't the wards themselves but the system they were a part of. Unlike dark wizards, light-sided defenders didn't have to obliterate the attacker completely; they only had to last long enough for the 'cavalry', in form of the Ministry's aurors, to arrive.

That's why Voldemort maintained a wide network of Ministry insiders, spies and auxiliary units, allowing him to at least partially cover this problem by delaying the Ministry's response. Harry, on the other hand, had no organization to back him up. Thus, his choice of tactics was reduced to only two options - _speed_ or _stealth_. And seeing how he would face more than 40 grown up wizards, it was clear that the former would be quite impossible, even for someone with his skills.

"So, then it's sneaking in and backstabbing the bastards. Just as I thought," Harry nodded to himself.

_I already have the blood key aspect covered, so at least that's a third of the problem down,_ he mused. _Anti-dark wards shouldn't be much of a problem too. But what to do with intent scanners? Try to dissolve them completely? Alter the list of inquiries? Try to block out the probe? Or..._

Harry's brainstorming was interrupted when two very familiar figures groggily stumbled out of the Burrow's front door.

"But mum, it's barely six in the morning! Why do we have to do it _now_?" whined the lanky figure of Harry's ex-best friend, one Ronald Weasley.

"He's right, mum. Can't we have a few more hours of sleep? Pleeeease?" piped in shorter figure of his sister and Harry's ex-girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley.

"That's quite enough, both of you. The guests will start arriving in a few short hours and I want the garden de-gnomed long before that. And be mindful that I expect more enthusiasm from the two of you once Bill and Fleur get here. After all, it's not every day your brother is getting married!" The shrill voice of the traitorous cow, Molly Weasley, could be heard through the hovel's door.

"Yeah, only every three months," Harry had to strain his ears to hear Ron's snide comment, before bristling at his own stupidity and casting a hearing amplification charm on himself.

"Don't you play smart with me, young man! You know very well why we had to postpone the wedding a few times before. With everything that's been going on..." Molly caught herself and sighed irritably. "Well, it's all in the past now. We better use this time, while You-Know-Who's attention is elsewhere, to focus on the brighter things in life."

"His attention is elsewhere?" Ginny asked thoughtfully. "So the Order knows why he's been so quiet these last few months?"

Molly huffed at her own slip-up and snapped back, "That talk is not for this day of celebration and certainly not for children's ears!"

"Hey, I'm not a child anymore!" complained Ron.

"You'll stop being a child once you get a job and start supporting yourself. Until then, your task is to de-gnome the garden and then report to me for more chores. We have a long day of preparations ahead of us, so you better get started. Now, off you go! Shoo!" Molly finished in a no-nonsense voice and slammed the door behind her, leaving the two kids to groan pitifully at the empty space where she used to stand.

Harry could clearly hear Ron muttering how he didn't need to search for a job because his future should have already been secured, but then he quieted down and sulkily started combing through the garden. Ginny's disposition didn't seem much better either, having obviously found it distasteful to sully her royal self by chasing garden pests through the mud.

Seeing that the show was over, Harry dispelled the hearing charm and fell back into the tree line, trying to push down his anger.

_Got so used living on my back that even a few minutes of honest work are too taxing for the rotten bastards,_ he fumed, thinking back to all those hours he had spent happily doing the exact same work his ex friends now deemed beneath their level.

But the worst part was the realization how little they have changed since his escape. He mentally knew he was now almost five years older than his supposed age group, but he has never had this fact shown into his face as convincing as this. Looking at them now, as young and deceitfully innocent as they were in his memories, he could almost imagine his teenage self stepping out of the house and joining them in the garden; Laughing and joking carelessly, completely unaware of the knife slowly sinking into his back. That image alone was enough to make his blood boil with righteous anger. He quivered in desire to jump in there and strangle the backstabbing scum with his bare hands. Thankfully, ever since Dumbledore's mind alternators were removed, his cold calculating mind had been keeping a tight leash on his temper.

_Easy there, tiger. Don't do anything stupid. Their time will come,_ he soothed himself, slowly getting his brain back on track.

_Where was I? Ah yes, the intent scanners. So... dissolve, alter or weaken..._ Harry trailed off, absentmindedly observing as the first gnome started sailing through the air towards his position. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with an idea.

_Or have someone else do the job for me, _he mused, his eyes shining cunningly.

Even as his brain started ironing out finer details of his newly concocted plan, his hand snapped out a silent broad-range locator spell towards the screaming creature. Once the gnome landed with a dull thud, it was then an easy task to track it down and stun it before the poor creature had a chance to realize what was going on. The same process was repeated several more times, leaving Harry with a sack full of unconscious garden gnomes.

Finding no more pests to harass, Ron and Ginny trudged off to report to their mother, grumbling about lack of sleep and general unfairness of their sorry little lives.

_Thanks for the help, mates,_ Harry sneered at their retreating backs. He then snuck back into the tree line, from where he safely removed the invisibility charm and apparated away. Same as his ex friends, he had a long day of preparations ahead of him.

* * *

When Harry apparated back several hours later, wedding preparations were in full swing. Order members and family friends were running around under shrill guidance of Molly Weasley, setting up decorations and utensils needed for the wedding. After numerous delays over the last year, everyone seemed very eager to finally get this wedding over and done with. Harry found it amusing that his attacks against Voldemort's lieutenants were actually the reason behind the ceasefire that had put everyone in such a good mood.

Scanning the yard with omnioculars, he zoomed in at the bonfire behind the tool shed, where Arthur Weasley and a stately-looking French gentlemen were huddled over a huge smoking cauldron. He recognized the _soulfoil brandy_, a mildly alcoholic beverage that is traditionally brewed on the wedding day, as a joint venture between the bride's and groom's fathers. As custom dictated, it will be used in a round of toasts on the opening of the celebratory banquet. Harry knew this would be the perfect opportunity to reach all the targets in one strike.

His hand automatically slipped into his pocket and gently caressed three morphus orbs of his own design. Each one was filled with a perfectly balanced cocktail of several deadly poisons and hindering solutions, mixed by the best potion master Knockturn Alley could provide.

_Well, that accounts for the target and the weapon,_ he mused. _Now to see about the method of delivery._

Harry pulled out his wand and started twirling it in a complicated pattern, his forehead furrowed in concentration. A golden drapery tickled out of his wand and stretched between two trees in front of him, before fading away into nothing. With another flick, Harry removed the disillusionment charm from himself, relieved that one-way invisibility wall was firmly in place.

He then took a deep breath and started another complex incantation, his forehead furrowed even more than before. Glowing blue velvet sipped out of the wand and started climbing up over the inner side of the invisibility wall which separated his makeshift camp from the Burrow's glade. A minute later, the entire view was covered in blue light, which after another long swipe of Harry's wand, started fading away. The Burrow became visible again, but none of the wizards and witches milling around could be seen anymore. The household looked completely deserted, even though one could see utensils and decorations disappearing and reappearing at various places in the backyard.

Harry smiled in satisfaction at successful casting of an extremely difficult _'selective invisibility net'_. It was a bother having to do so, but he knew his next step wouldn't be possible if his 'method of delivery' thought the Weasley backyard was milling with people.

As the final touch, he swiped his wand over his eyes and performed another incantation, enabling himself to see through his own illusion.

Done with the logistic preparations, Harry sighed wearily, knowing that the really daunting work had yet to start. Resignedly, he retrieved one of the stunned garden gnomes from a sack thrown against a nearby tree and carefully laid it down on the grass. Bill Weasley's anti-dark wards would stop him from placing the blighter under Imperius or some compulsion charm, but who's to say that Dark Magic is the only way to gain someone's cooperation? In fact, the spell he intended to use was actually a healing charm, originally designed to help human patients recover from long-lasting brain damage, or at least temporarily restore their mental faculties. Applied on a gnome, it would hopefully augment its intelligence to a level where the thing could be engaged in a sentient conversation. Reluctantly, Harry brought up his deeply repressed feelings of compassion, fuelling them into one of the lightest spells he had cast in a long time.

"_Acuto cordis,_" he spoke softly, a kind-hearted expression looking almost foreign on his pale, scared face. Bright light enveloped the unconscious gnome, before slowly congregating and disappearing inside the creature's head. Harry had little time to feel pleased with his successful performance, before he was hit by the painful after-effects.

"Blasted territorial magic," he growled through clenched teeth, trying to force the bile down his throat and stop himself from retching all over the blissful looking gnome. The dark magic that saturated Harry's bloodstream viciously rebelled against the invasion of foreign, poisonous emotions that threatened to weaken its grip on his soul. Only through sheer willpower did he manage to convince his tainted instincts that light magic was merely a tool and not a deadly enemy that needed to be exorcised at all costs.

Thankfully, the other spell he needed to cast was in a blissfully neutral part of the emotional spectrum.

"_Vernacula clades transfero,_" Harry intoned, focusing on the wand movements and pronunciation, rather than emotions. The lesser breed translation charm settled over the gnome's head, before once again disappearing inside it.

_Now, for the incentive_, Harry decided, as he retrieved a shrunken sack of exotic acerbreath garlic from his backpack. He restored the bag's size and retrieved one disgusting vegetable from it, before dropping the whole stinking thing against a nearby tree. In a moment of foresight, he disillusioned the sack with other garden gnomes he had captured and put a scent-absorption charm on it.

_I'll try with the carrot approach first,_ he mused as he banished the undetectable sack behind a nearby tree for a good measure. _If that doesn't work, I can always set a couple of the blighter's friends on fire and see what he makes of that._

With a silent double-flick of his wand, he renewed the tracking charm on the sleeping gnome and finally woke it up. The moment the creature's eyes regained focus, they widened in panic at the sight of an intimidating wizard looming over it. The shaking gnome started whirling its head left and right, desperately seeking a way out. Just as it was about to pounce towards a nearby bush, it heard the human speak.

"Hello there, little friend!" Harry greeted the filthy thing in a boisterous tone, trying to imagine how some light-sided idiot would handle the situation. For obvious reasons, images of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were on the forefront of his mind. He tried to suppress a nagging feeling that his old self could also be added to that group.

The gnome froze in place, partially from the surprise at being able to understand human speech and partially from the fact that a high and mighty wizard had taken his time to try and communicate with a lowly household pest.

"What's your name, little fellow?" Harry forced a smile, trying to calm the little beast before it suffered a heart attack.

The creature's transfixed expression remained in place, while its mouth almost automatically blurted out "I Gnarf."

"Ahh, that's such a nice name. I'm Harry, pleased to meet you," Harry beamed back, but the gnome wasn't listening anymore. Hearing its own squeaky voice speak out in a human language was apparently too much for the poor fellow. It jumped up a foot into the air, before running off towards the bushes as fast as its mismatched legs would carry it, screaming bloody murder in the process.

Harry sighed dejectedly and fired off a quick flipping spell at the gnome's rapidly retreating back. Even with a temporary enchanted brain, it took the numbnuts several seconds to realize it was running in the wrong direction, right towards the enemy.

"Yikes! Tosser!" the gnome cried out in English, which only served to make its consequent horror-struck scream even louder. Thankfully, the annoying voice was cut off when the creature tripped on its own disfigured feet and ended up tumbling right over to Harry's boots, yelping painfully at each pebble it hit on the way.

Having had enough of playing around with the simple animal, Harry brandished his wand and transfigured a horseshoe-shaped enclosure behind the idiotic pest's back. He watched dispassionately as the creature inched backwards faster and faster, only to slam straight into the rampart, letting out another frightened yelp in the process.

"Just stop, alright!" Harry snapped in frustration, afraid that the wretched thing might start wailing again. To his surprise, the gnome did clamp its mouth shut but then it dug itself as far against the wall as possible and stuck its tail out, shaking in fear.

Harry sighed in exasperation. _He's expecting me to take him by the tail and throw him,_ he realized.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, alright?" he spoke in the gentlest voice he could muster. He was half-tempted to simply put the gnome under a trustfulness charm, maybe even the one that Dumbledore liked so much, but he knew very well that the Burrow's precise ward would deem any magical manipulation of free will, no matter how small, as 'dark magic'.

"We'll just have a little talk and then I'll let you leave, no harm done. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The gnome thankfully lifted its head from between its arms and gave him a fearful look. After a few more encouraging nods from Harry, it opened its moth, as if to say something, but then it thought better of it and merely nodded.

"You can speak, you know. It won't hurt you. I simply... made you able to speak English... Human," Harry explained patiently, realizing that he should try using simpler words that the gnome's still limited intelligence could comprehend.

"E... English?" the gnome, Gnarf, asked in a barely audible voice, flinching at the unfamiliar and yet understandable word coming from his mouth.

Harry's smile grew wider. "English is a human language, Gnarf. Speaking it doesn't hurt at all! See?"

The gnome appeared to be lost in thoughts. He started murmuring random words under his breath, at first very carefully, as if testing them out, and then louder and louder. "H-h-hello... G-g-narf... D-day... Folks... Potato... Hole... Dirt!... Food!.. Hall!.. Fire! Toss! Worm! Carrot! Onion!"

Harry's forced smile slowly turned sour as the deranged creature started yelling out every word from his dictionary, obviously enthralled by hearing them in a strange language. By the time it started jumping around excitedly, Harry was on the verge of blasting the annoying pest into smithereens and starting it all over again with a fresh one. Only the thought of having to go through another light magic casting kept his wand at bay.

"Tomato! Cot! Barglunia!... Barglunia... pretty? Barglunia pretty! Gnarf... love... Barglunia! Gnarf... and Barglunia... make folkling! Hah! Gnarf... fuck! Hah! Fuck Barglunia! Gnarf Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fu- Ouch!"

The gnome's animated pantomime of the action on his mind was rudely interrupted when a rather stinky piece of garlic slammed straight into his head, flipping him all the way over to his back. Gnarf shook his head and straightened up, his eyes darting around confusedly, looking for the source of a newly formed bump on his head. Harry gave the acerbreath garlic he had just banished a pointed look, hoping the idiotic creature wouldn't take offence at his method of delivery. But he needn't have worried. All previous concerns seemingly disappeared from the gnome's limited mind, as his eyes fell upon the most revered vegetable in his crude culture.

"Njambo! Look! Njambo! Pretty njambo... Tasty njambo..." Gnarf finished mumbling incomprehensively through salivating lips, while inching closer and closer to the garlic laying a few feet away from him.

"Ahh, so you've noticed _my..._ njambo," Harry noted calmly, as he swished his wand, rolling the piece of vegetable several inches away from the gnome and towards his own feet. He made sure to put a special emphasis on the owner of the food.

Gnarf snapped his head up, as if just realizing the human was still there. His eyes started darting from Harry to the acerbreath and back up, as if measuring his chances of making a grab for it and escaping intact.

"Do you like it?" Harry gently squatted down, bringing his head closer to the gnome's level.

Gnarf gave him a suspicious look, before carefully nodding in confirmation. "Njambo good. Njambo... smells nice... and tasty," he added for good measure, obviously pleased with his newfound sentence-forming skills.

"It is, isn't it?" Harry nodded back, hiding his own disgust at the thought of actually eating the almost acidic vegetable in its raw form. "Do you want it?"

The gnome's stare became even more suspicious, but he nodded obligingly.

"Alright then," Harry shrugged. "Come here and take it."

Gnarf leaned back in surprise, looking rather confused by this unexpected development. "Tosser... _Dark Tosser_... give... little Gnarf... his njambo?" he asked carefully, his sentences becoming smoother with each try.

Harry smiled forcefully, trying not to curse the creature for the insult. "Yes, it is my gift to you. Go ahead and take it. It's yours."

Gnarf took a step forward, but then stopped, giving the wizard another suspicious look. "Dark Tosser... no toss Gnarf?" he asked feebly and then added with more conviction, "Gnarf hate tossing. Gnarf flies. And then Gnarf lands. And then Gnarf's head hurts. And then Gnarf gets lost. And then Blargrat comes and takes Gnarf home. And then Gnarf punished. And then Gnarf must clean potty hole for..."

"No, I won't toss you." Harry said aloud, interrupted the gnome's whining session about the unfairness of his insignificant little life. _Probably spent too much time around Ron_, he added mentally. He felt somewhat amused how accurately the gnomish term for 'human' had described the only wizard family this tribe had ever met.

"No toss Gnarf? P-p-promise?" the gnome asked fearfully, his eyes widening in apprehension and hope.

"No toss," Harry nodded, wincing at the crippled English he had instinctively used.

Thankfully, the gnome didn't notice Harry's embarrassment, as he was too busy jumping all over the garlic, hugging it like it was a long lost relative – which, judging by the garden gnomes' general appearance, it might as well be. After a whole minute of watching the dumb creature alternate between nibbling and hugging the piece of stinky vegetable, Harry's patience was once again running thin.

"Gnarf," Harry called, snapping his fingers behind the creature's back. The gnome jumped back, holding his precious prize protectively away from Harry. "Do you want more?"

"Want...more?" the idiotic creature asked confusedly.

Harry nimbly pulled out another stinky fruit from his pocket and presented it to the gnome, whose eyes budged in wonderment. "More njambo," he clarified.

To Harry's surprise, the gnome didn't immediately jumped at the new piece of vegetable. Instead, his eyes started darting confusedly from his acerbreath, to the one in Harry's hand, and back. "Gnarf...already... have njambo. This Gnarf's njambo! Gnarf's njambo good!" he stated firmly, before hugging his own piece of garlic protectively, as if trying to reassure it that he won't cheat it with some other njambo strumpet, no matter how pretty it looked.

"Yes, yes I agree, it looks quite lovely," Harry quickly appeased the gnome. "But don't you want more? Two njambos are surely better than one."

Gnarf's eyes kept darting between the two vegetables, as if trying to determine whether his arms could hug both of them at the same time. "But... but Gnarf's njambo huge! Gnarf's njambo... plenty! Gnarf eat his njambo many suns!"

_Goddamn communistic midget, show some fucking greed!_ Harry swore mentally, wrecking his brain for some new avenue he might exploit. The gnome's rant about the fear of tossing came to his mind.

"Gnarf, you like your njambo, don't you?"

The gnome nodded vigorously.

"But you also like your... little friends. Other... garden gnomes?"

The gnome seemed a bit uncertain there, before shrugging in acceptance. "Folks yell at Gnarf and then Gnarf sad, but then Folks help Gnarf and then Gnarf happy. Folks Gnarf's folks," he nodded, sounding rather sage for such a lowly creature.

"Of course, family is important," Harry confirmed. _Unless they stab you in the back,_ he added mentally. "So, don't you think that your tribe... the _folks_, would want their own njambo?"

Gnarf thought about it for a second, before nodding vigorously.

"So, wouldn't they want you to get them some?"

"Mmh-mmh", Gnarf shook his head in negative, frowning disapprovingly. "Gnarf not picker. Gnarf digger! Gnarf dig halls and Gnarf dig holes and Gnarf dig hovels and Gnarf dig potty holes! Gnarf good digger!"

"But you can also pick food, can't you? It's not that hard," Harry said irritably.

"No, Gnarf not pick food," he denied sadly, his shoulders slumping. "Blargrat says Gnarf likes food a too lot. When Gnarf pick food, Gnarf gets happy. And then Gnarf... _spoils_ food. So Blargrat tells Folks Gnarf not to pick food." He then straightened up and stated firmly, "Gnarf good folk! Gnarf not pick food!"

If Harry thought the gnome's denial was a bit too vehement, he didn't show it. Instead, he licked his lips thoughtfully, trying to figure out how best to present his next point to the stupid creature. "But we are not talking about _picking_ the food here, are we?" he asked reasonably. "We are talking about merely _taking_ the food that has already been _picked_. Right?"

Seeing the gnome's confused expression, Harry slowly leaned in, careful not to startle the animal. He pointed out a nearby wild berry with his left hand and intoned, "_Picking._" He then raised his right hand, still holding the garlic, and said suggestively, "_Taking._"

He repeated the process several more times in front of the confused gnome. Internally he sighed bitterly at how low he had fallen; from clashing minds with some of the greatest wizards in the world, to lecturing English syntax to a deranged household pest.

Gnarf carefully followed Harry's action, wrecking his little brain with this new concept. "Blargrat tell Gnarf not pick food... Blargrat not tell Gnarf... not... take... food? Gnarf... _not_... pick food. Dark Tosser... pick food. Dark Tosser give food! Gnarf take food! Gnarf not picker!"

Harry leaned back and sighed in relief. It was more an old neon tube slowly blinking into life than a bright flash of a light bulb, but it would have to do.

Unfortunately, Gnarf's unexpected mind-storm had seemingly taken him a step too far. His face suddenly closed off and his eyes narrowed. "Blargrat says Tossers not give food. Tossers guard food. Folks pick food. Folks hide from Tossers. Tossers toss Folks. So Blargrat says! Blargrat knows!" he recited, staring at Harry suspiciously. "Dark Tosser lie," he concluded sharply, surprising both himself and Harry by his bold logical reasoning. Harry suspected that the gnome was just now realizing how to utilize additional brain power provided by the spell. Shifting his toothpick thoughtfully, carefully considered his answer.

"But I have given you that njambo over there, haven't I?" Harry asked pointedly. "Doesn't that make me different from all the other Tossers?"

Gnarf didn't seem so sure of himself anymore. "Red Tossers not give food to Folks. Red Tossers toss Folks. Dark tosser give food to Gnarf. Dark tosser not toss Gnarf," he mused, before his tiny eyes narrowed into a cute-looking glare. "Why Dark Tosser different?"

Harry observed his reluctant pawn calculatingly for a few seconds. Finally, he decided to simply be honest and take the plunge. "I need your help, Gnarf. I am giving you njambo because I need you to perform a task for me in return."

Gnarf face was again clouded with confusion. "Help? P-perform... task? Give njambo and not give njambo..." he stuttered perplexedly.

"Look at it this way. You're a digger, correct?"

Gnarf nodded carefully.

"You dig out tunnels and holes for the folks, and in return, they give you food and shelter. Right?"

The gnome seemed rather puzzled by this explanation, obviously having never contemplated on the organizational chart of his tribe. Still, after several expectant looks from Harry, the creature returned a small, shy nod. "Gnarf good digger. Gnarf digs and then Folks happy and then Folks give Gnarf food. Gnarf gets good food," he added proudly.

"And I'm sure you deserve nothing less," Harry nodded. "So, the same way the folks give you food when you dig tunnels, I will give you njambo if you do something for me."

Gnarf's face pinched in contemplation. "Dark Tosser want Gnarf dig?"

"No," Harry said, as he retrieved one of the ally-sized morphus orbs from his pocket and showed it to the gnome. "I want you to sneak all the way to that big... pot over there," he pointed at the half-covered cauldron simmering behind the tool shed, "and stick this... _shiny nut_ to its side."

Gnarf was looking at the sphere nervously, his brief bout of confidence gone in the face of a strange offer. "Gnarf go to jumbo pot... and... put... shiny nut? No... no dig? Gnarf good digger! Gnarf very, very good digger!"

"No Gnarf, I don't need anything dug," Harry snapped, clenching his fists in frustration. "I merely want you to take this _nut_ over there and stick it to the fucking _jumbo pot's_ plating. That's it," he explained impatiently and thrust the orb towards the annoying creature.

Gnome jumped a back and put his hands behind his back, shaking his head vigorously. "Blargrat says Tossers' thingies naughty! Blargrat says Folks not touch Tossers' thingies!"

"Gnarf, if I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have done it already?" Harry hissed irritably.

But the gnome was already inching backwards, clutching his garlic possessively, obviously trying to make a clean break with it. "Blargrat says Gnarf digger. Diggers not pick. Gnarf not pick. Folks not like Gnarf pick. Blargrat not like Gnarf pick. Gnarf go home. Folks happy. Blargrat happy." He gave Harry a slightly apprehensive look. "Dark Tosser... _Nice_ Dark Tosser... let Gnarf go home?"

Harry glared at his reluctant pawn, wondering what would the little shit think of his all-mighty leader if he saw him running around in circles with a flesh eating curse inching up his tail. Still, he decided to give the carrot approach one last try, before pulling out the stick and smacking the annoying pest over his lumpy foolish head.

"Of course I will let you go, Gnarf. I promised I would." Harry said, while summoning the bag with garlic behind his back. "Although, it _is_ a shame that some other gnome will get praise for bringing all this njambo to the tribe, instead of you," he noted offhandedly, while opening the bag so that Gnarf could clearly see its content.

Gnarf's precious njambo hit the ground with a dull thud, as its owner froze in complete shock, blinking disbelievingly at piles and piles of the precious vegetable enticingly bouncing inside the bag.

"You like it, Gnarf?" asked Harry carefully.

Gnarf had enough brainpower left to offer a vague nod. "Njambo... many njambo... many, many, many njambo..." he kept chanting bemusedly through drooling lips.

"You know, all this njambo could still be yours," Harry said carefully. "You only have to deliver this... _nut_ for me and you can have it all. Very simple," he said while dangling the orb in the gnome's eyesight.

That had clearly been a mistake, as Gnarf instantly blinked himself out of his daze and took a hasty step backwards, shaking his head in blind refusal. "No, no. Blargrat said not trust Tosser... Blargrat said Tossers toss... Blargrat said run from Tossers..."

_Haven't we already been through this?_ Harry mused, before his eyes fell on the garlic the creature was possessively holding, A small smirk formed on his face.

"But Gnarf, you _have_ trusted me with this other njambo I've given you," Harry almost laughed when the gnome gave his piece of vegetable a startled and slightly betrayed look, obviously having never thought of that little detail. "By Blargrat's rules, shouldn't you give me that njambo back before you leave?"

Poor Gnarf was at this point almost in tears, hugging his precious acerbreath for all it was worth, while furiously shaking his head in denial. "No, no. Gnarf trust Dark Tosser. Dark Tosser nice Tosser. Dark Tosser give good njambo. Gnarf likes his njambo-"

"Right, right," Harry nodded impatiently. "So, if I'm such a good bloke, wouldn't it be nice of you to help me out a bit? After all, it's only fair, after all I've done for you."

The gnome was slowly backing away and shaking his head, although not as furiously as before. Even through his reluctance, he managed to shift to another excuse with a surprising ease. "No, Gnarf not allowed. Blargrat said Gnarf not picker. Gnarf not naughty. Gnarf not pick food. Gnarf-"

"But Gnarf, this is not just any old food we're talking about," Harry stayed relentless, moderating his voice so that the pest would be forced to stop his retreat and lean forward. "Don't you think the folks would make an exception for a prize like this?"

Gnarf shuffled nervously, murmuring under his breath. "Gnarf not know... Not pick food... Not naughty..."

"In fact," Harry leaned closer. "Wouldn't they be pleased with you for bringing them this gift?"

Poor gnome was pressing his hands over his bat-like ears, still shaking in denial. "No... Not trust Tossers... Not pick food..."

"Just think about it, Gnarf. The folks are always bringing you down, not trusting you with anything other than digging. This is your big chance to prove them wrong. Show them that you _can_ handle food as well as digging. I bet they'll even promote you into a picker if you do this right."

Gnarf stopped shaking head and perked up a bit. "P-p-promote? P-picker? Gnarf... become _picker_?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it," Harry smiled when he saw the gnome make an unconscious half-step forwards. "If you bring all this njambo home, I bet even Blargrat will be pleased with you!"

"R-realy? Blag-Blargrat not yell... and tell Gnarf get away from food and go dig?" the gnome gulped and gave Harry a hopeful look. "Blargrat tell Gnarf... Gnarf _good_ folk?"

"Of course!" Harry confirmed magnanimously. "And not just him. I bet all your little friends... the _folks_ will congratulate you! You'll be their hero!"

"Gnarf be... _h-hero_?" the gnome gasped in wonderment, while slowly making another tentative step forwards. "Folks not tell Gnarf... Gnarf naughty dum-dum? Folks tell Gnarf... Gnarf _good_? Folks... _like_ Gnarf like Gnarf like Folks?"

"I'm sure they will," Harry nodded. He suddenly smirked as an idea hit him. He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "And not only them. Just think of how proud will _Barglunia_ be of you."

That was obviously the selling point Harry has been looking for. Gnarf straightened up, a glazed look on his face. "Bar-Barglunia? Barglunia like njambo. Gnarf... give njambo to Barglunia... Barglunia... _like_ Gnarf?"

"Yes, yes! All the girls like fancy gifts," Harry exclaimed encouragingly.

The little fellow perked up even more at this newfound revelation, stumbling faster and faster towards the bag's opening, his hands reaching out in front of him. "Barglunia not say Gnarf nasty dirthumper! Barglunia say Gnarf sweet huggy pumpkin! Barglunia not hate Gnarf and tell him go away! Barglunia like Gnarf! Yay!"

The gnome threw himself headfirst into the sack and started throwing vegetables around, jumping all around while squealing in ecstatic glee. "Barglunia tell she like Gnarf! And then Gnarf tell he like Barglunia! And then Gnarf fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!..."

Harry noticed rhythmic movements inside the bag and grimaced as he finally realized what Gnarf's comments about 'spoiling food' actually meant. With a vicious swipe of his wand, the sack buckled, throwing the euphoric gnome out on the grass, two acerbreaths lovingly clutched to his chest and crotch. With another flick the pieces of garlic were wrenched from the confused creature's arms and sailed gently back into the sack. One final flick sealed the opening shut, hiding the treasure cove of food from Gnarf's disappointed look.

Harry gave the dazed gnome a hard stare and crossed his arms resolutely. Even interacting with filthy pests was humiliating enough for a dark wizard of his standing. Having to clean gnome spunk from his bargaining chips was definitely _not_ what he had signed up for when he decided to go all fancy and creative with breaking the Burrow's wards.

"No... no njambo?" Gnarf sniffed, looking up at Harry with a pathetic crestfallen expression on his face.

Something deep inside Harry's chest stirred with what he recognized as pity and sympathy, but for some reason, the only thing he wanted to do was laugh mockingly at the thought of leaving the perverted little pest high and dry. Still, he quickly moderated his scornful expression, trying to sound sincere and understanding.

"Of course I'll give you njambos, Gnarf. I promised as much," he said. Once again, he pulled out the morphus orb from his pocket and placed it on the grass, a foot away from Gnarf's feet. "But first, you need to keep your part of the bargain and do that chore we had agreed upon."

Gnarf looked at the orb, furrowing his brow in thought. "Go... go to jumbo pot... and..."

"Take the shiny nut. Sneak up to the jumbo pot. Put nut against the pot. That's it," Harry explained. "And once you return, all this njambo will be yours."

"And Barglunia!?" Gnarf jumped ecstatically.

"And Barglunia," Harry nodded. "After all, hero always gets the girl."

"Hero Gnarf get Barglunia," the gnome sighed blissfully, and closed his eyes, as a thin thread of drool poured out of his mouth. Only when Harry carefully pushed the morphus orb an inch forward did the gnome snap out of his daydreaming and brought his attention back to the issue at hand.

After a few more encouraging nods from Harry, Gnarf finally approached the dreaded orb and started examining it carefully from all sides. Harry held his irritation in check while the gnome put the orb through all the safety tests his puny little brain could think off. After a whole minute of sniffing, spitting, prodding, kicking and licking, Gnarf finally took the orb and lifted it triumphantly over his head, a proud expression shining from his face.

Harry resisted an urge to roll his eyes at the creature's antics. He asked encouragingly, "All ready then?"

The gnome nodded and put the orb under one arm, before waddling off to his own acerbreath garlic. Harry felt the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation when the stupid creature started trying to pick up the stinking fruit and place it under his other arm.

"Gnarf you can leave that here, I'll be looking after it until you return," Harry mumbled tensely, while massaging his aching temples. Seeing the gnome's panicked expression, he sighed and relented. "Alright, alright, take it, knock yourself out."

With one final frustrated wave, Harry leaned against the tree and started performing all the calming meditation techniques he knew, while watching an eight inch tall gnome trying to take a hold of a 4 inch wide garlic and a 1 inch large orb at the same time. Surprisingly, it took him only half a minute to find the optimal configuration.

Perilously balancing both objects, Gnarf waddled back to Harry and gave him a surprisingly smug look. "Gnarf good picker!"

"You sure are," Harry nodded, his lips twitching a bit. "So, do you know what you're supposed to do? Tell me."

The gnome frowned in thought. "Go to jumbo pot. And then put shiny nut to jumbo pot. And then go back to Dark Tosser. And then take many, many njambo! And then fuck Barglunia!" he jumped in excitement, nearly dropping his load.

"That's right, little guy!" Harry chuckled in amusement. Internally, he was relieved that the stupid fuck had finally figured it out. "So, are you ready?"

"Yes!"

"Go on, then! The sooner you start, the sooner you'll get Barglunia! Come on, now! Run!" Harry clapped, steering Gnarf into action.

For a second the gnome eagerly shuffled in place, before trotting off towards the edge of the makeshift camp's invisibility wall. However, he barely managed to cover a couple of feet, when a blue wave of magic overcome him, freezing him in mid step. Harry lowered his wand and inspected the petrified statue of Gnarf carrying a garlic and small glass orb, smirking slightly at what could easily be described as a horny expression on the creature's face. He then placed a few preservation and stabilization charms on the frozen figure and retreated back to his tree. With a distracted wave of his wand he conjured a comfy armchair and plopped down into it. At last, he truly sighed in relief, satisfied that phase one of his plan was finally completed. All he had to do now was wait for an opportunity to present itself and then release his newly created pawn on its mission.

• • • • •

Hours stretched, while the Burrow's backyard gradually filled up with appropriate banquet and wedding facilities. The large central table was now sporting a white sheet, expensive-looking tableware and two long lines of conjured chairs on each side. Above the table hung several canopies, decorated with animated vignettes and dozens of multi-coloured balloons. The lawn around the corner of the house was playing host to a standard wedding setting. Row after row of stiff, white benches led to the elevated altar, now decked with beautiful golden decorations dancing on the arch over it.

After a few hours, it became obvious that the Weasleys planned to conduct the marriage ceremony in the makeshift open chapel to the side of the house and then move the party to the backyard, for a feast and proper celebration.

_Just as I predicted. This will give me the window of opportunity I need,_ Harry thought, making several merry twirls of the ever-present toothpick in his mouth.

Around twelve o'clock, the furniture and decorations were all set. The workers started retreating into the house and re-emerging bathed, trimmed, pressed and dressed in their best formal robes. Soon, the core of the wedding group was sitting around the main table, amiably chatting and obviously resting from the hard morning's work. Eventually, the scared groom himself came out of the house and sat at the head of the table. His bold marking of territory was met by good-natured teasing from his family and especially his father, who had gotten merely one of the side seats. The guests started arriving several minutes later, some flooing directly into the Burrow and others apparating to the edge of the wards and walking into the backyard.

At a quarter to three, almost the entire Order was gathered in the backyard, as well as a good number of French speaking people and even a couple of Ministry officials. Only Fleur and a few of the girls were still missing, but from his limited knowledge of wedding customs, Harry suspected that they would be hiding inside the house until the ceremony started and then make a grand entrance.

For a moment, Harry wondered if there was a way to spare the Delacour family from the Weasleys' fate, but he quickly squashed these counter-productive thoughts. Collateral damage has always been and always will be an unavoidable part of any battle in civilian surroundings. Only a fool would try and fight against such a fundamental reality of war.

• • • • •

It was now five minutes past three and the wedding ceremony had yet to start. People were alternating between looking at their watches and scanning perimeter of the wards. Occasional pops of apparation and swooshes of the floo system could be heard from within the household.

_Ahh, so they've finally noticed Mad-Eye Moody is missing,_ Harry realized. A satisfied smirk stretched over his face at the memory of the old auror's downfall late last night. Tracking down the paranoid bastard had been a pain in the arse, but once he finally had him cornered, Harry found it surprisingly easy to outduel the old dog, even with his hearing muted. Mad-Eye Moody might have been a respectable dueller once, but his time had long since passed. Without the manoeuvrability to dodge his spells, nor the magical reserves to outpower him, the crippled auror's shields had little chance to outlast his relentless onslaught of dark offensive magic.

_No wonder the old two-faced bastard was so paranoid all the time,_ Harry mused. _I would be too, if I'd pissed off a bunch of dangerous criminals in my lifetime and lacked the skills to defend myself._

He noticed that McGonagall, Arthur, Bill, the French guy and several other ringleaders were now huddled together over some sort of written message they had found, obviously discussing what they should do next. Harry had known that taking Mad-Eye's magical eye and paranoia out of the equation may cause problems, but he was confident that the fools would swallow his planted note about Moody having to attend some urgent business abroad. Indeed, a few minutes later, Arthur whispered a few words to one of the Ministry wizards, who then invited everyone to move on to the makeshift chapel on the side of the house, notifying them that the ceremony was about to start.

_The time is finally here,_ Harry suddenly realized as he stood up from his armchair. Excited butterflies fluttered in his stomach, but over the years, he had grown accustomed to the feeling and even learned to like it. He watched as guests slowly trickled out from the backyard, taking their places on the side-field benches. He noted that the tool shed and the house were almost completely occluding Gnarf's approach path, but the gnome would still have to be careful in some parts of the backyard.

_He better be. After all, hiding from the 'tossers' is essential for his kind's survival,_ Harry mused, as he leisurely keyed Gnarf into his invisibility ward, so he could see through it.

It took almost ten minutes for all the guests to settle down, largely thanks to French guest's constant complaints about the 'barbaric conditions'. Once the snobs were finally hushed up, a ministry wizard dressed in silvery-white robes climbed up the stage and started speaking. Seeing that everyone's attention was finally occupied, Harry approached the frozen gnome, brandishing his wand. With one wide swipe he dispelled all the restraining spells holding Gnarf in place, and with another, he gave the creature some momentum.

The gnome was instantly unfrozen and propelled forwards, roughly simulating his earlier speed and direction. Still, the artificially recreated momentum was far from perfect. The creature gave a startled yelp, before stumbling over his own feet and falling face first into the dirt. His cargo gone, Gnarf tumbled a few additional feet, before finally stopping several meters away from his starting point.

After a few seconds of painful twitching, Gnarf slowly lifted himself up and looked around confusedly, as if wondering what had made him fall this time. His confusion got a whole lot worse when his eyes fell on the Weasley household. Even from the distance of several meters, Harry could sense the complete bewilderment his pawn was feeling at seeing a bunch people and decorations that hadn't been there just moments ago in his personal timeline. The gnome anxiously shuffled in place for a few seconds, before turning back towards the forest, obviously intent on running as far away from the freak phenomenon as possible. He was, however, stopped by the sight of the acerbreath bag enticingly dangling from the wizard's hand. Harry gave the creature an encouraging smile and a nod, ensuring him that everything was fine and urging him to go on with his mission.

To his delight, the gnome's face hardened into a mask of determination. He whirled back resolutely and started collecting his fallen cargo. Soon enough, Gnarf was once again ready to go, balancing the acerbreath and the morphus orb perilously one on top of the other. Throwing Harry another smug look, the gnome trotted off on his merry way, easily passing through the invisibility wall and entering straight into the Burrow's ward perimeter.

_Now I see if my gambit pays off,_ Harry clenched the toothpick in his mouth harder, as he watched the gnome trot through the booby trapped area, completely oblivious to dozens of scans and tests that were being performed on him.

_Gnomes are not directly tied into the wards, but as the Burrow's permanent residents, they should be excluded from the visitor notification alarms. Ill-intent detectors will probably merely brush over Gnarf's simple mind, not detecting any plans to harm the household occupants. What am I missing...Ahh. The cargo he's carrying doesn't contain any active charms, transfigurations or enchantments. And even the faint magical tell-tale signs of potions and alchemic runes on the morphus orb will be covered by the gnome's magical signature. Hmm... I should be in the clear,_ Harry mused thoughtfully, enjoying the excited twitters in his stomach. There was something decidedly chivalrous in pitting his wits and skills against a more than competent Gringotts ward expert, which William Weasley certainly was. Challenges like this were one of the few things that made him feel truly alive.

His good mood was, however, slightly dampened when he noticed the amount of ruckus the damnable creature was making while trying and spectacularly failing to remain inconspicuous.

_Good thing all the traitors are behind the edge of the house,_ he grumbled mentally. _No wonder these stupid animals get caught and tossed out so easily._

After several trampled tomato plants, two wrong turns and one overturned bucket, Gnarf finally found himself in front of the simmering cauldron. Harry took his omnioculars and leaned in eagerly, knowing that a simple hand movement was all that stood in the way of victory.

However, Gnarf seemingly had different ideas. First, he carefully deposited the acerbreath down on the ground, making sure it remained within his eyesight. Next, he took the morphus orb and started inspecting it carefully, occasionally glancing at the cauldron. Then, to Harry's everlasting horror, the dumb creature leaned back and flung the glass ball straight at the cauldron, as hard as he could. A pleased expression on the gnome's face was wiped away as the orb bounced right off the cauldron's plating and hit him straight in the head.

At seeing his idiotic pawn totter on his feet for a second, blinking stupidly, before collapsing straight on his back, Harry couldn't hold it any longer.

"Fucking idiotic fucktard! Fuck!" he screamed in frustration, biting his toothpick in half and furiously spitting the splinter from his mouth.

_Me and my fucking 'innovative' ideas,_ he fumed, while furiously strolling back and forth in front of the invisibility wall. _I should have just squashed that idiotic gnome into a pulp and broke through the wards like any normal dark wizard would. But nooo, I had to play smart and try to find an 'elegant' solution. See where that got me now..._

Harry's mental rant was interrupted when his enchanted eyes caught the sight of Gnarf standing up painfully and shaking the cobwebs out of his head.

_There might still be a chance,_ he thought with new hope. _Come on, you stupid little fucker, stand up, that's it..._

Harry held his breath as Gnarf stumbled over to the undamaged glass ball and picked it up cautiously, only to groan in disappointment when the cursed creature leaned back, getting ready for another throw.

But then, Gnarf suddenly froze in place and gently lowered his hand, a look of realization dawning on his face. Harry held his breath while Gnarf carefully analyzed the orb and the cauldron. He then took a few measured steps away from the cauldron, only to once again buckle his arm into a throwing posture. He seemed very pleased that he had taken precautions against knocking himself out again.

This time Harry wasn't able to hold back a rather unbecoming whimper at seeing his brilliant plan fall apart. His hands clenched into fists, itching to either start throwing curses or pull his hair in frustration. A distant part of his brain wondered whether he'd have any nerves left before the day was over, but most of his conscious mind was too busy thinking of various innovative ways of ending the idiotic gnome's life.

But then, Gnarf made his move. He took a few running steps, intent on throwing the orb as hard as possible. However, in his eagerness, he suddenly tripped over his own feet and sent himself flying head-first, straight at the cauldron's iron plating. An incredulous expression dawned on Harry's face when he saw Gnarf's outstretched hand pressing the orb against the cauldron, before his head followed, creating a dull 'gong'. He paid no mind to painful yelps and moans his pawn was producing, while jumping around and rubbing his burned head and hands. His omnioculars were focused solely on the morphus orb, which was hanging securely from the cauldron's side.

"It's working!" he cried in incredulous relief when the alchemic runes lit up with power and the orb started sinking into the cauldron's surface. He knew that the far side of the orb, as well as the cauldron's iron plating were already dissolved, allowing the cocktail of potions to spill into the brandy. With each new millimetre the orb sunk in, the runes on its back shone brighter and brighter. Elementary particles were being transported from the dissolved contact area to the glowing runes, where they would wait until they are needed for future transfigurations.

Harry smiled proudly at his own creation; Alchemy was far from a flashy form of magic, but it was sure as hell useful, if applied properly.

At this point, the half-orb's bottom started flattening up and becoming more solid. Accumulated particles were being magically banded together in groups of 26 proton-electron pairs and 30 neutrons, forming molecules of iron, which were then embedded into a brand new cauldron wall. When the last of the runes stopped glowing, the only thing left of the orb was a slightly discoloured patch of iron on the cauldron's side. Harry smiled victoriously, feeling secure that none of the Weasleys would even give the anomaly a second look, least of all suspect that a dose of deadly poison had been injected through that spot.

Only then did Harry notice that Gnarf's little dancing act had attracted some unwanted attention from the wedding party. The presiding priest-like wizard had stopped speaking and joined the guests in curiously observing the path of grass between the house and the tool shed, where a silly-looking little creature was jumping, cursing and wailing in what sounded like a mangled form of English language.

_Oh shit,_ Harry thought panicky. _He's gonna tip them off!_

As if sensing the wizards' attention, Gnarf suddenly froze in place and slowly lifted his head, spotting 50 or so 'tossers' staring straight back at him. When the realization of his unfavourable position finally hit home, the gnome jumped up in fright, letting go a startled little yelp, before sprinting straight back behind the cover of the tool shed.

Gnarf's hasty retreat broke the wedding party out of their frozen shock. Startled silence was replaced by curious exclamations, laughter, bickering about the nature of garden gnomes, awwing of the French girls and Molly Weasley's chastising of her children for not degnoming the garden properly. The hum was eventually shushed by the wedding master's pointed coughing, and the guests turned their attention back towards the altar, where an amused Bill and annoyed Fleur were still waiting to take their vows.

On his end, Harry finally allowed himself to loll back into his conjured armchair, put a fresh toothpick between his teeth and sigh with relief.

_Innovative ideas aren't without their risks, but they are sure as hell more exciting then pedestrian textbook approach,_ he mused, while watching Gnarf pick up his acerbreath and head back to collect his prize. He distractedly waved the gnome off towards the bag with his prize, too caught up with his mental celebration to pay his served-up weapon too much attention.

For the next five minutes, he did his best to tune out the gnome's jubilant cries and blabbering plans for his and his new fucktoy's bright future. Instead, he patiently observed as the traitor and his half-Veela tart took their vows, threw some kind of wreath into the audience and performed a bunch of other nonsense rituals he didn't care about in the least.

_Finally!_ he groaned mentally, as bored-looking male guests and teary-eyed females stood up and started trickling back towards the long table, where the feast was about to start.

Harry's focus was suddenly shattered by a louder than normal exclamation of his pawn, followed by an unintelligible response coming from somewhere behind his back. In a flash, he was on his feet, his wand already out, pointed straight at... a group of dazed looking gnomes stumbling out a disillusioned bag stashed behind a nearby tree.

_Fuck, I completely forgot to renew their sleeping charms,_ Harry chastised himself, while watching Gnarf drop all but one acerbreath he'd been gnome-handling, before running straight towards his tribe.

"Barglunia! Barglunia! Njambo! Gnarf give njambo!" he yelled breathlessly, while holding the abused fruit over his head like an offering to the Gods.

Harry watched half-amusedly as his idiotic pawn grabbed a hold of one particularly lumpy female garden gnome and literally dragged her back to the pile of garlic he had spewed all around the bag.

_So that's Barglunia!?_ Harry wondered, staring disgustedly at what looked like a mouldy misshapen potato with short uneven arms and legs, which were currently flailing around in panic. _No wonder the stupid midget likes vegetables so much._

"Barglunia! Look! Njambo! Gnarf's njambo! Sweet njambo!" Gnarf chanted ecstatically, not noticing the expression of pure panic and fear slowly growing on the ugly she-gnome's face.

Harry glanced at the other gnomes and saw that they too were shaking off the after-effects of the sleeping spell and coming out of their trance. Judging by the progression of confusion, apprehension and horror on their faces, they too were unnerved by hearing their village idiot dragging one of their kinswoman around, while speaking in what sounded like a _human_ language. Seeing that they were on the verge of running away, Harry sighed irritably and sent a wide wave of mild mind-numbing magic over the entire group. With some further wand-work, the entire tribe have had their short-term memory erased. They were then promptly stunned and sent tumbling back into the bag, which tied itself up after the last unconscious gnome flew in.

Done with the pesky colony, Harry turned back towards his armchair, where Gnarf was still desperately attempting to talk some sense into the panicking female, not realizing she couldn't understand a word he was saying.

"Barglunia, not be afraid! Dark Tosser good Tosser! Dark Tosser give njambo! Njambo for Barglunia! See! Here! Njambo!" Gnarf blabbed merrily, while shoving various slobbery vegetables at the terrified Barglunia, who was shakily backing away towards a nearby tree trunk.

"See! Gnarf not filthy dirthumper anymore! Gnarf now picker! Gnarf good picker! Gnarf pick many, many njambo! Gnarf hero!" The gnome pumped his chest proudly as he advanced towards the lumpy girl, following her all the way to a nearby tree.

"Barglunia love heroes! Gnarf love Barglunia! Barglunia love Gnarf!" At this point, Gnarf pinned the female gnome against the roots and started slobbering all over her, which quickly broke her out of her stupor. She started kicking and screaming, but Gnarf was too caught up in his own fantasy to notice her terror.

"Ahh, Barglunia sweet! Sweeter then njambo! Gnarf pick Barglunia... like Gnarf pick njambo. Gnarf pick Barglunia good!" the gnome panted, while dry-humping over the screaming gnome, not unlike what he had been doing to the vegetables only minutes ago.

_I guess no one ever bothered to explain the birds and the bees to the poor sod,_ Harry mused, while watching the spectacle with mixed feelings of amusement and irritation. The amusement, however, quickly evaporated when he noticed that the crowd around the big table had quieted down and Arthur Weasley stood up to give the opening toast.

_Fuck! I can't hear the thing over all this racquet,_ he cursed, all the frustrations he had experienced while dealing with Gnarf suddenly coming back to surface.

Making a snap decision, a cold smile crept over Harry's face. He pointed his wand at the wrestling pair of gnomes and hissed menacingly "_Fulmoglobus_!"

A neon-blue orb cackling with electricity hit Gnarf straight in the back, quickly spreading over to Barglunia and pinning them both against the ground. The gnomes let out horrified, high-pitched screams, as a high-voltage charge spread through their convulsing bodies. The scream grew in pitch, before abruptly ending as the two vibrating corpses burst into flames, releasing a cloud of oily black smoke. Even when the spell ended, the two dead gnomes were still spasming from electric aftershocks, their charred remains permanently fused together in a hug.

"Well, you sure as hell rocked her world there, Gnarf," Harry let go a chuckle at his own lame joke, which quickly turned into a full-blown mocking laughter. A distant part of his mind rationalized that he was merely trying to preserve his unique method of entry by disposing of all the witnesses, but the other, darker part of him was simply basking in sadistic glee at obliterating the source of his recent frustrations.

The fused pairs' rhythmic tremors finally died down, as the last vestiges of the electric charge bled into the burned ground. "Well, at least the little guy's greatest wish finally came through. He laid the girl of his dreams," Harry concluded his laughing fit, before banishing the charred husks several feet beneath the ground, along with all the acerbreaths he had brought in.

_Just removing the evidence, Gnarf. Nothing personal,_ he kept repeating in his brain, trying to convince himself that this was truly all there was to it. In all honesty, he actually felt mildly disgusted by himself for his earlier jokes and giddiness.

_There's nothing cool or funny in inflicting pain or causing death. Taking joy in some insignificant pest's demise was way beneath my level. I should know better than that,_ he chastised himself sternly, in what was becoming a well rehearsed speech. His duty done, Harry hastily pushed the whole incident to the rear of his mind, with other similar incidents, and resolutely turned back to the more important matters at hand.

Harry once against cast the hearing amplification charm on himself and started listening just in time to hear the end of Arthur Weasley's opening toast. "...a ray of light in these times of darkness and insecurity. Learn to trust and cherish each other, but also know that the Weasleys' and Delacours' joint hearts and minds will always be there to support in the times of need. I'm confident that only when we are united shall we succeed in our endeavours to secure survival of our joint fruits and provide them with a place in the world we all feel they rightly deserve. Admittedly, these last several months have been hard on everyone, but let us all hope that today's happy union will be a good omen of the brighter days ahead of us."

Harry sneered at the callous mention of his own escape from their money-grabbing clutches, but remained focused on Arthur, who was currently raising his glass with spiked brandy, mirrored by all the other guests on the table. "Bill, Fleur. May your lives be long and filled with love, harmony and happiness. _An maer galu a annan cuil._"

Harry chuckled with glee as every last one of the poor oblivious sods parroted the Weasley patriarch's Elven toast, before drinking up their poison.

"_For good fortune and long life,_" Harry mockingly repeated Arthur's toast in English, raising his butterbear to the congregation before him. "Well, at the last few minutes should feel like an entirety," he added, before gulping down the beverage and setting his stopwatch to a five minute countdown. The potion master was very specific about the time it would take for the cocktail to kick in, and Harry had no reason to doubt him; after all, both the brewer's reputation and his well-being were on the line.

_I better get on with it,_ he decided, banishing the butterbear. _I wouldn't want to be late for my own revenge. I have a speech I've been itching to give for a long, long time._

Over the next two minutes, Harry banished sleeping gnomes into the forest, dispelled the conjured accessories and cleaned up any tracks of his presence around his makeshift camp. He gave the area one last check-over, before turning back towards the main table, where a tall French wizard was taking up the soap box with his own opening speech.

"Well, what was it they say? Revenge is a dish best served... now," he smirked, before collapsing the invisibility wall and apparating to the opposite, frontal side of the house.

In steady, determined steps, Harry strolled down the main road leading to the Burrow and stopped just before the first ward line. Hardening himself against a fresh bout of butterflies waking up in his belly, he retrieved a blood red stone from one of his pockets and pressed it against his bare chest bone. He clenched his toothpick in pain as the magical item sunk half an inch into his own flesh and started flashing in the rhythm of his heartbeat. Having made sure that the blood obfuscator saturated with Mad-Eye Moody's freshly culled blood was properly activated, Harry closed his cloak and walked straight into the first line of the wards.

He felt the flashing obfuscator on his chest heat up and vibrate with magic, leading the subtle tentacles of the blood sensors away from his own blood vessels and towards the Mad-Eye's blood stored inside the enchanted stone.

Just moments after the blood detectors retreated, having concluded that the intruder was keyed into the wards, Harry felt a new magical presence envelope his entire body.

_Anti-dark detectors,_ he thought grimly, his insides twisting in disapproval at the disgusting light magic sticking its nose where it didn't belong. The wards shuddered in disapproval themselves, sensing a dark taint in the subject's magic. The alert level went up a notch, but nothing else happened; After all, dark auras were a common occurrence in the times of war, even amongst the wizards fighting for the Light. Unable to find any active dark curse or even a residue, the probe finally gave 'all clear' and, almost reluctantly, retreated its claws from Harry's body, eliciting a sigh of relief.

_Two down, one to go,_ he thought grimly, as a new bout of sensors weaved an intricate web around his mind. Correctly interpreting the polite knock on his mind's door for what it was, Harry retreated his Occlumency shields, not wanting to raise an alarm. Having left the passive elements of his mind magic in place, Harry was perfectly aware of the progress the intruding probe was making. Even more important, he was able to decipher predetermined list of questions the wards were asking his cognitive brain centres, as well as hear his own replies.

_"Do you work, serve or cooperate in any way with one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort?"_ he heard the probe ask its first question in a dull monotone.

Harry said nothing and thought nothing, but electro-chemical reaction in the frontal lobe of his cerebral cortex automatically formed an answer, which the mind probe easily picked up.

_"No."_

_"Are you Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort?"_

_"No."_

_Nice catch,_ thought Harry. _So many ward crafters make mistakes with simple logic like this._

_"Are you a fugitive from the British Ministry of Magic?_

_"No."_

_"Do you consider yourself a dark arts user?"_

_"Yes."_

Harry shrugged mentally at the feeling of disapproval coming from the wards. _No big deal. Moody certainly hadn't been innocent in that regard either._

_"Do you mean harm to any known occupant of the premises?"_

_"Yes."_

_Damn!_ Harry swore mentally, as he felt the alert level go up a notch. _Oh well. I don't think the Weasleys would expect anything less from the old paranoid bastard. I bet all sorts of alerts have been lighting up every time he approached the headquarters._ He then quickly cleared his mind and braced himself, knowing that the next question will be crucial.

_"Do you intend to harm any known occupant of the premises?"_

_"No."_

Harry sighed in relief and smirked inwardly at the success of his ingenious plan. _Why should I harm them?_ he thought smugly. _All the traitors are already dead, they just don't know it yet._

Thankfully, after this question, the intruding ward swiftly retreated its probe, seemingly satisfied with the answers it had received. With a new spring in his steps, Harry strolled on through the anti-travelling barrier and another defensive trip-field, before triumphantly emerging on the inner side of the warded circle. Resisting an urge to gloat at his inevitable success, he carefully approached the Burrow's front door, pulling out his wand in the process.

"We're in the back yard, Moody!" he heard Molly Weasley's screech through the house, followed by the French speaker's indignant clearing of throat.

_So the fat bitch is the ward keeper... Predictable. She's the only one who's constantly home,_ Harry mused as he steered right around the house.

_Thirty seconds,_ he saw on his wristwatch and modulated his speed, determined to make a clean and safe entrance.

With each measured step down the side path around the house, Harry's excitement grew exponentially. While the rational part of his mind rejoiced the freedom he was about to obtain, the dark magic in his veins danced with glee at the prospect of finally getting some revenge for all the betrayals he had discovered thanks to his secret helper.

He paused at the corner leading to the backyard and started the final countdown, almost trembling from excitement.

_Ten... nine... eight... seven..._

Glancing up from the stopper, Harry took a deep, calming breath, schooled his face into a blank mask and stepped forward.

"Come on, Mad-Eye. We saved you a..." Molly's voice drifted off when she saw that the figure emerging from behind the corner was definitely _not_ Mad-Eye, regardless of what the wards had told her.

_One... zero._

A quiet beep of Harry's stopwatch rang clearly in the dead silence of the Weasley backyard.

* * *

**Author notes**

Finally, the second chapter. Since the monster was just too damn long (almost 37K!), I had to split it in two parts. This is part one. The second will be posted within a week and hopefully bring the story well past its mid-point.

**NOTE** - Version from January 2008. Some rewritten parts and grammar fixes, but no major changes in the plot.

**o - Credits and acknowledgments**

Thanks to **Muttering Condolences** for fixing up my atrocious grammar and other errors. Additional thanks to AFC affiliates **Japanese Jew** and **Charmscharles** for their helpful suggestions. Special kudos to **Jbern**, who helped me figure out a crucial element of the plot.

That's three different kinds of thanks, in case you haven't noticed. :-)

**o - Sources and additional disclaimers**

All elements of Elven lore and language are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, his inheritors and various companies that had bought off pieces of this franchise over the years.

Sindarin translations are made by using software found here:

www jrrvf com/hisweloke/sindar/df20 html

Encyclopaedic references are from all-powerful Wikipedia

www wikipedia org

To access links, replace empty spaces (' ') with dots ('.').

I don't own any intellectual property mentioned above.


	3. One final test of Fate

* * *

**Yin and Yang**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter-specific warnings:** Blood & gore, explicit violence, character deaths. Rated M for a reason.

* * *

**Chapter 3 - One final test of Fate**

Cold green eyes scanned over the crowd of flabbergasted witches and wizards seated at a long table in the Burrow's backyard. At the far end, newlywed Bill and Fleur Weasley sat side by side, their mouths agape, ruining their exquisite, carefully choreographed appearance. A good-sized contingent of Delacours took about half of the right-hand side of the table, while the rest of the seats were filled with Weasleys, their family, friends, and what appeared to be the entire membership of the Order of the Phoenix. Their garments were lush and festive, suitable for the wedding ceremony they had just attended. Their lips were still wet from the poisoned cocktail they had just ingested. Harry smiled at them through bared teeth. His long sought revenge was finally in motion.

"Hello Molly. Ladies, gentlemen," he nodded nonchalantly as he strolled to the near end of the table, where his former friends and other 'kids' were seated. Seemingly casually, he brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, exposing his scar for a brief moment. Like a chain reaction, gasps and exclamations spread around the table.

"_Haaww?_" Molly and a few of his ex-friends gargled in union. Their words were, however, completely inscrutable.

"Oh I'm sorry, did you say something? I didn't quite hear that heap of fake mollycoddling bullshit you just spewed there." Harry glared coldly at the traitorous bitch he'd once considered his surrogate mother.

Other guests quickly followed Molly's example, but they also failed to produce anything but disjointed sounds. Several smarter Order members tried to draw their wands in an attempt to dispel the muting spells, but they found their arms weakly slumping down by their sides.

"Oh come on now, after spending so much effort trying to track me down, the least you can do is _relax_ and hear what your esteemed _guest of honour_ has to say." he smiled unpleasantly at their futile attempts to break the effects of the muscle-relaxant.

Harry then swiftly turned to the nearest part of the table, where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were still straining to get up from their seats, looking around confusedly.

"Problems standing up, _mate_? What, too many second helpings?" he sneered at Ron, glancing at the pile of food already heaped on his plate. "Or maybe it's your pockets laden with _my parent's inheritance _thatare holding you down?"

The names from his account balance sheet flashed before his eyes, fresh as the first time he saw them - Ronald, Hermione, Ginevra, Remus, Molly, Kingsley, Fred, George.

"Or was it the celebrity stalking slut that talked you into it?" he whirled towards Ginny, who flinched back guiltily. "What was it, bitch? Wanted a little advance, before bagging me in for good? There'd be no more poverty and ridicule for your royal feistiness, with a rich and famous husband slouching in the daze of your love potions. One big fucking happy Weasley family, indeed!" he spat in disgust. What a weak fool he had been, falling so easily into the little gold-digger's trap. But not anymore.

"And what about you, Granger? Finally realized you were barking at the wrong tree when you made the effort to befriend me, that Dumbledore's political clout far outweighed my own? After all, Boy-Who-Lived or not, little old me could hardly provide you with one of those lucrative pureblood-only apprenticeships or whatever was it that Dumbledore had used to lure you in. I only wonder, when was it exactly that you decided to sell me out? After Rita's articles? Fudge's slandering campaign? Scrimgeour's threats?" Harry smiled coldly at Granger's well-constructed look of outrage, which quickly covered up her initial surprise.

"Yes, don't you think I don't remember our last year together. While your 'benefactor' was alive and kicking, you were so caught up in your own self-importance, getting all catty with me for even daring to jeopardize your God-given title of every teacher's pet. I gather Dumbledore's death must have made quite a mess in the time planner of your academic career. Suddenly, your old friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived was once again a valuable asset, wasn't it? The old bastard's body hadn't even cooled yet, and there you were, crawling right back into my arse and dragging your new pet along with you. What was the idea? Get the sucker back into the Golden Trio bullshit, and he might yet provide you with your precious mastery, or whatever is it that your self-centred bookwormish ego craves for?" Harry smirked at Granger's guilty flush, which broke right through her faked mask of innocent outrage.

While other guests were still caught in an astonished daze, it seemed that the realization had finally sunk into Ron's thick skull. His confused expression, that had slowly replaced his initial well-practiced friendly mask, has finally exploded into a reddening angry sneer. He managed to lift himself on shaky legs and started yelling some unintelligible words, trying to break through the muting spell. Hermione, the rest of the Weasleys and a few Order members were quick to follow his lead, desperately trying to form coherent sentences with their hindered voice boxes.

"Thus, the backstabbers' true faces finally emerge. Whenever your faked concern and sanctimonious bullshit fails, there's always Dumbledore's little backup plan to fall back to." Harry's smug leer disappeared under a new torrent of anger. "Well, not this time, fuckers! You can yell those command words all you like. They didn't help Mad-Eye when I blew his brains out and they certainly won't help you!"

With some satisfaction, Harry observed as gasps of astonishment and fear came from the Order's section of the table.

_Just as I thought!_ he mentally gloated. _All the self-proclaimed heroes of the Light are in on it, one way or the other._

"What? You didn't think I'd find out about your little backup plan? You thought you'd be able to keep me on your silken leash forever? Brainwash me into a good little Golden Boy? Laugh at me from the sidelines as I break my back trying to solve your problems and then ride off into the sunset with _my_ family's legacy in your coffers?"

Harry whirled towards a few less prominent Order members, who were frantically shaking their heads in negative.

"Don't even think about playing naïve with me, Jones! Even if you didn't know all the details, you were there all the same, helping this _traitorous scum_ destroy my life!" Harry's cold glare moved over the stupefied Order members.arHa

"Lying, cheating, manipulating me from the day one! All of you, each and every one of you, will be held accountable for your treachery! And as the poison you've ingested slowly drains your lives away, just like you'd drained my money, magic, freedom and free will, you'll realize why no one - _no one_ - fucks with-"

Harry's triumphant finale was lost in a cacophony of grunts and moans, as the entire table exploded with commotion. Some people where yelling at him with anxious expressions on their faces. Others had murder in their eyes, as they vainly tried to make some meaningful flicks and slashes with their limp wand-hands. A few even managed to lift themselves from their chairs, only to end up sprawled beneath or on top of the main table, shaking from exhaustion.

Harry frowned, irritated at the interruption of one of his better preplanned speeches. He quickly analyzed his words and realized what had gotten his audience so riled up.

"Ahh yes, the poison. How could I have forgotten?"

His expression regained its arrogant, triumphant lustre, as the commotion died down and the entire party was once again hanging on his every word.

"Well, as some of you might have already guessed, voice suppression and muscle relaxant are only the first stages of the cocktail you've just ingested. Normally, I would have liked nothing better than to do you in myself like the filthy beasts you are, but alas, common sense dictated a more reliable solution. Thus, the slow-acting poison."

He glanced at his stopwatch and raised an eyebrow in mock-surprise, ignoring gasps and cries of dismay coming from the crowd.

"Why, I do believe some of you might already feel the first symptoms. Dizziness, increased temperature, maybe a bit of nausea?"

Harry's grin widened as several people in the crowd gasped, having realized their progressively worsening composure wasn't solely due to the situation they've found themselves in.

"These initial symptoms will, of course, slowly build up, followed by rising blood pressure, muscle cramps, vomiting, excretion expulsion, haemorrhage, dehydration, etcetera, etcetera." He finished waving his hand impatiently, as if deeming such tedious details unworthy of his notice. "Medical mumbo-jumbo aside, let's just say that you'll become intimately familiar with each of your body fluids, while your lives slowly and _painfully_ trickle away. And the best part is, the potion will ensure that you remain conscious _all_ the way through, until you finally expire from either dehydration or blood loss. Nothing but the front row seats for my faithful audience."

Harry's hateful voice rang in complete silence, the entire table staring at him in gobsmacked horror. It was obvious that, up until that moment, none of the guest grasped the full extent of Harry's contempt towards them, nor his willingness to see his revenge through. As the shockwave of this realization rippled through the crowd, true fear and panic started settling in.

"What, am I being unjust? Cruel? Not giving you a fair chance to explain yourselves?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Or am I merely giving you the same chance you gave Sirius Black before you locked him away and threw away the key, so you could get your money-grabbing hands on your precious saviour? Am I not showing you the same mercy you'd shown _my fucking godfather_ when you surrounded him with Dementors and let them gnaw at his soul until only gaunt wreck of a person remained?"

Harry's thundering tirade faltered when he realized his voice was once again fading into the hum of furious, frightened and pleading mumbles, intersected by occasional sobs. He glowered at the undignified cowards as he levitated a pair of guests who had again tried to crawl away and roughly shoved them back into their seats, making one of them, Kingsley Shacklebolt, vomit all over the table. He hushed his 'class' with a stern look, before continuing his speech from where he left off.

"But even when he was backstabbed by everyone he once held dear and sentenced to a slow descent into insanity, Sirius didn't give up. His spirit was far greater than you fuckers ever dreamed of, wasn't it? How surprised the old goat must have felt when he heard my godfather had escaped his so-called inescapable prison. How his plans seemed to crumble, as his control over his pawn – _Will you fucking cut it out!?_" Harry suddenly snapped at the French side of the table, from where a veritable cacophony of demanding and pleading mumbles has almost overwhelmed his well-measured voice. He swallowed the upcoming rant and forced his tone down to the level of a tightly controlled irritation.

"Look, I know this has nothing to do with the lot of you, but you'll just have to endure it for the next ten minutes or so. If you're bored, find some other amusement... look at the clouds or something. I don't give a shit as long as you stay quiet. Capisce?"

His order was answered with an even stronger hailstorm of moans and mumbles, this time supported unanimously by the English side of the table. Few Frenchmen even had the gall to point demandingly at their throats, not realizing Harry had made sure that even he couldn't remove the muting aspects of his potion once they are set in place.

"Silence!" Harry finally thundered, glaring at the row of sweating and shivering aristocrats on his right hand side, before sweeping his eyes over the entire table. "I've had it with this foolish resistance! Do I really need to explain everything so you'd finally settle down and hear what I have to say? Fine!"

He whirled towards the left-hand side of the table, where most of the Brits were seated.

"Traitors! Listen and listen good, 'coz I'm not saying this again! First, I can't un-silence you, and I wouldn't even if I could. I have no idea who of you has the command words and I don't intend to find out. Second, I don't have an antidote because there is no antidote. One way or another, you are all gonna die today. So, I suggest you sit your arses down and show some fucking dignity for once in your two-faced lives! You might even earn some closure before you pass on!"

He then whirled on his right. "Delacours! I've had it with your incessant whining! _We are innocent, what's going on, we have nothing to do with this, blah blah blah,_" he mimicked mockingly at a pair of beautiful women of obvious Veela origin. They glared right back at him with rage in their bloodshot eyes. "Alright! You might not be in on it! I fucking get it! But you get this: This is a fucking war and you've just become collateral damage. Congratulations! Is it fair? No! Can you change it? Fuck no! So fucking deal with it and cease your persistent yapping or I'll cease it for you!"

On the inside, Harry cursed his inability to simply silence the froggy wimps. By his own 'brilliant' request, one of the cocktail's components was a strong dispelling solution, which would prevent lasting spells, like silencing charms for instance, from sticking to the victims. His idea was to block out any enchantments and protective charms his targets might have set up before the attack. Ironically enough, his diligence was now working against him.

With one last glare at the furious elderly blonde, who was the most mutinous member of the French bunch, Harry cleared his throat and tried to get back on track. "Now where was I... Err... You know what? Forget Sirius. I hardly even knew the guy anyway. Let's instead talk about how my legal guardian's _convenient_ removal allowed you to sink your greedy claws into the world's saviour and mould him into the exact love-starved clueless little boy you needed for your plans. Placing me with just about the worst bunch of muggles you could possibly lay your hands on was a stroke of genius, I'll give you that. The Dursleys made damn well sure I was malnourished, ignorant-"

Harry's new build-up was once again interrupted, this time by an animalistic screech of the mutinous elder lady he'd exchanged glares before. In a flash, she literally flew out of her seat, spreading her arms... no, her _wings_ in freedom. Harry had just enough time to blink in surprise, before a fully transformed Veela was upon him, razor sharp claws going straight for his throat. But even if his brain was frozen in shock, his carefully honed combat reflexes certainly weren't. Instinctively, his wand hand made a sharp jab forward, followed by an automatic syllable coming from his mouth. There was an explosion of red light and next moment, the fearsome bird of prey was propelled backwards, sending pieces of her shredded flesh and intestines in an almost graceful arc, splattering along the length of the table.

Seeing their would-be meals swimming in blood and stomach content was obviously the last straw for some guests, as the broken Veela's final breath was followed by a choir of retching noises and muted screams of horror spreading like a disease along the table. Even Harry grimaced at the combined smell of vomit, feces and blood, before his brain kicked back in, wiping these uncontrolled reactions from his face.

"Hmm, so the Veela transformation can break through the immobilizing solution. Could other Veelas break through it as well? What about accidental magic?" He mused to himself quietly amongst the cacophony of screams, cries and retching noises coming from the crowd. "Either way, I can't risk it," he decided.

Just as he made his mind, another transformed Veela, this one a middle-aged woman, jumped from her seat and charged at him, crying in rage at the loss of her kin, probably a mother. But this time, Harry was ready. With practiced ease, he slashed his wand diagonally, sending a purple cutting hex through the charging bird-demon's neck, slicing it cleanly in half. Even as the woman's body collapsed into a twitching heap and her silently gaping head continued rolling on through the grass, Harry was on the move.

He circled around the table, easily avoiding clumsy swipes of a few determined Order members and stood opposed to the next Veela in the line. Another middle-aged beauty seemed to be on the verge of transformation, judging by her developing predatory features and a look of animalistic rage on her face.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry intoned coldly, removing the threat just as the wings pierced through her expensive blue dress. The half-transformed Veela's cry of liberation went silent as her dead body slumped into the empty plate.

Ignoring cries and futile attack attempts, Harry walked another few feet down the table and found himself opposite to the final person in the group of Veelas he had just eliminated. With a sudden pang, he recognized Gabrielle Delacour, a foolish little fangirl he had needlessly rescued during Triwizard tournament. Judging by the tears of fear and frustration pouring down her flushed face, she was obviously too young to achieve a proper Veela transformation, despite her efforts.

_Harmless little bint,_ Harry concluded disdainfully and was just about to move past her, when he recognized developing symptoms of poisoning on her face – bloodshot eyes, sweaty forehead, pale complexion and a small trickle of blood pouring from her nose. He took an involuntary glimpse at the developing horror scene around her and suddenly felt strangely reluctant to leave her... _unchecked_.

"Still, best to make sure," he told himself, a bit more forcefully then intended. Abruptly feeling sick of the sights and smells around him, he snapped his wand up and bellowed out "Avada Kedavra!" He felt oddly relieved when a green wave of magic washed away the look of betrayal from the 10-year-old girl's face.

_It's a shame she had to be here today. Her foolish crush could have been of use in a year or two, _he allowed himself a moment of regret, feeling relieved when he managed to get his stomach back under control.

A barrage of particularly fierce sobbing yells from his left brought him out of his reverie. He swirled towards the head of the table, where Fleur Delacour was desperately struggling to stand up from her seat, staring at her dead sister with fire in her eyes.

"Ah I forgot about you," Harry murmured, taking a better glance at the bride. Early signs of Veela transformation were visible on her face and arms, but she was obviously incapable of moving on to the next stage. "Having a little problem there, tart? Hmm, you're just a quarter Veela, if I recall correctly. Then the first one must have been your full Veela grandma and the other two your half-breed mother and aunt. You can't fully transform when you're this far down the line, can't you?" He concluded thoughtfully, ignoring Fleur's mounting frustration and rage. He nodded to himself, shrugged and lifted his wand. "No matter, better safe than sorry. Avada-"

"Nwwoo!" with an almost legible howl, Bill Weasley threw himself into Fleur's shaking lap, protecting her with his body. The entire table instantly exploded into an even fiercer cacophony of howls and cries, with Charlie Weasley making a desperate grab for Harry and almost managing to reach him, before ending in an exhausted heap on the grass.

"Oh for crying out loud," Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. He stomped back to the bottom end of the table, angrily levitating dislodged guests back into their seats as he passed them by. Once there, he threw a silent glare at Bill Weasley, who was still protectively slumped over Fleur's struggling body.

"_Crux transfodio!_" Harry suddenly jabbed his wand forward, sending a blue spear of light cruising over the entire length of the table, amidst horrified stares of the helpless guests. The spear hit Bill's chest with a wet piercing sound, followed by a hard crack as it burst through the chair behind Fleur's back. Both newlyweds quietly slumped over the table, with Fleur's arms protectively resting around Bill's shoulders.

A moment of horrified silence was promptly broken by a shrieking cry coming from Molly Weasley. Other Weasleys quickly put in their own contributions, followed by an already rehearsed choir of Delacours.

Harry just stood at the end of the table, silently fuming at all the time he had lost on suppressing this... _pointless_ resistance. Once more, he cursed his decision to have the potion master implement only partial restraints into the cocktail he had had him mix up. At the time, he thought it a good idea to give the traitorous filth a chance to cry and beg for their lives. But who would have thought that the backstabbers could care for anything but their own precious plans and schemes? Who could have expected they'd have genuine feelings for each other, when they hadn't shown any for him?

Harry now realized that, somewhere along the line, he had lost perception of who and what his enemies really were. Soaring through elaborate schemes and conspiracy theories, his imagination had gradually stripped his enemies of their humanity, turning them into fitting targets for his rage. In Harry's mind, unique human beings, such as the stumbling Ron, insecure Hermione and mothering Molly, were replaced by faceless calculating machines, with sole purpose of accumulating political and financial gain at his detriment.

But now, after five long years of dreaming up his revenge, he finally found himself face to face with the living, breathing versions of the grotesquely caricaturized bogeymen his mind had made up to focus his rage on. And he was suddenly coming to realize that the people who had betrayed him were just that – people. Between plotting, scheming and stealing, they were also eating and sleeping, loving and hating, crying and laughing, and doing all those things that distinguish comic book villains in his mind, from the real, fallible human beings before him now. He now saw that their undisputable treason was only a facet of their personalities - surely large enough to earn them revenge, but not prevailing enough to completely suppress their human nature when met face to face. And somehow, this rude awakening alone was enough to make Harry feel strangely frustrated with everything he had accomplished so far, including his precious vengeance.

_No way to go now but forwards,_ he decided with forced determination. He knew there will be time for such musings later. Now was his one chance for a catharsic release that had been building up for half a decade. He refused to let this opportunity slip away on account of few insignificant technicalities.

Pushing his sudden consternation and self-doubt to the back of his mind, Harry redirected his rage at the screaming crowd of backstabbers, having had quite enough of Molly Weasley's high-pitched wailing.

"Enough! Shut up!" he yelled, trying to overpower the hubbub. He tried to get the table's attention with a couple of loud bangs from his wand, but no one seemed to be listening to him. Finally, allowing his frustration to get the better of him, he swished his wand in a wide sweep, intoning the mass silencing spell, "_Sum Silencio!_"

"Finally!" Harry's voice echoed in the ensued silence. "One more cry from that fat cow and I-"

"Fwuwwkewww!"

Harry swirled towards the unexpected howl and found himself faced with the charging figure of Ronald Weasley, foam spilling from his mouth and murder dancing in his bloodshot eyes. At the same moment, he caught flashes of several wordless incapacitating hexes coming from the senior Order's part of the table.

Once again letting his battle instincts take charge, Harry twirled his wand silently, sending his traitorous ex-friend flying into the path of two incoming curses. Even as the howling lunatic got yanked away from him, leaving a trail of spit in his wake, his wand arm carried on its graceful motion, easily deflecting the other two hexes aimed at him. For the time it took Ronald Weasley to absorb the incoming stunners and crash into the table, Harry had already taken a duelling stance, his eyes coldly analyzing the four Order members who had attacked him.

However, he needn't have bothered, as the battle was apparently already over. Tonks, Kingsley, McGonagall and Lupin were slumped exhaustedly in their seats, their wands resting limply in their shaking hands. At the same time, hubbub of loud retching and weeping was once again overtaking the crowd.

Harry blinked in surprise, as his brain took a second or two to piece together what had just happened. When it finally came to him, he wanted to curse himself for his impulsiveness.

_Of course, the dispelling solution must have kicked in to remove that damned silencer! It probably borrowed some magic from the next least important part of the mixture, which is the weakening potion,_ he theorised. A truly frightening thought suddenly hit him. _What if it decided to weaken the speech obstructer instead? I'd be a helpless zombie right now! _

Shivering at the thought of ruining his revenge when he was so close to the finish line, a new wave of cold anger washed over him.

_Bang!_

The crowd quieted down at the sound of the cannonball charm coming from Harry's wand.

"That's it! I've had it with your shit!" his amplified voice boomed. "I thought you'd understand what I'm trying to achieve here, appreciate this _unique chance_ you're being given. Thousands, _millions_ of good, honest men die by slipping on a rubber duck while climbing out of a bathtub, or in some other mundane accident, never getting a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones or settle their affairs before passing on. But you -_ you,_ a bunch of child abusing, manipulating, lying, thieving bastards- _you_ are given this _treat, _this _unprecedented opportunity_ to have all your mistakes laid bare before you, allowing you to make peace before passing on, both with yourselves and those you had hurt with your greed and corruption!"

Harry's furious eyes scanned the cowed audience, while his wand absentmindedly sent enervated Ron back into his seat, leaving a trail of spit and vomit over the tablecloth.

"But no sir! I guess that'd be too _noble_ for the lowlife backstabbing scum like you! Even in these closing moments of your lives, you'd rather snivel and struggle and ruin my day then face your sins proudly, with your heads held high, and receive the judgement you rightly deserve!" Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "So that's how you wanna play? So be it! But if I don't deserve a chance to speak my mind to a group of sentient human beings, my fellow wizards and witches, then you don't deserve to be treated as such!"

"No wands!" With a furious swipe, Harry summoned all the unholstered wands from the struggling guests' hands, sending them into a pile behind him.

"And no more movements! If you don't wanna die like proud wizards and witches, then you'll die like the restrained wild animals that you are!" With a long incantation, he spread a wide network of ropes over the entire table, tying each guest firmly to their chair.

"There! I hope everyone's happy now!"

And indeed, it seemed that Harry's new measures, combined with failure of the Order's surprise attack, had finally beaten the fight out of the majority of the traitors. It didn't help that nosebleeds, defecation and stomach cramps, along with almost constant retching, turned most of the guests into shivering anguished wrecks. Smells of feces and urine added their contribution to the general odour of vomit and blood spreading from the table, further limiting everyone's ability to think of anything but their own misery. Naturally, a few persistent wizards were still uselessly struggling against the ropes, but most people were either weeping to themselves or mumbling to each other, trying to receive comfort and hope from their families and co-conspirators. No one was attempting to plead for their lives or use the command words anymore, which elicited a more genuine smirk from Harry.

_Good, they're finally learning,_ he thought smugly, as he glanced at his watch.

"Right. Now, thanks to your antics, it seems I'll have to skip over the Dursleys part as well. Let's just say that living under their thumbs wasn't at all fun." He cleared his throat and seemingly pulled another virtual page from his memorized All-The-Ways-I-Got-Screwed speech. "But my suffering there was nothing compared to what I experienced once I've finally gotten under Dumbledore's direct control. I see it all now, the entire scheme was orchestrated to the finest detail. First, I was _conveniently_ introduced to recently deceased Hagrid and Ronald here, who were more than happy to teach the poor abused boy which house is the _proper_ one for their future pawn. I'll let you know I should have been a Slytherin from the start! But you and your two-faced leader manipulated me into believing Gryffindor is the only house where I'll be able to find the acceptance and friendship I craved for - a craving that _you_ intentionally created with your meddling! But that's not all..."

Harry trailed off when he noticed that his speech was being listened with half an ear at best. The guests just sat there, crying in pain and fear, as steady trickles of blood poured from their eyes, noses and ears. Noting the increasingly worsening condition of his audience, Harry sighed in barely controlled irritation.

_At this pace, the pussies will be in too much pain to properly appreciate my grand finale,_ he fumed. _God damn poison is kicking in too fast._

Casting another cannonball charm, Harry continued his speech at an increased pace. "As I was saying, that's not all. During the following six years, your meddling commander did his best to mould me into an ignorant but obedient weapon he could throw to the wolves for '_the Greater Good_' - which means his own good, of course. With one foisted clue after another, he gently pushed me and my so-called friends into a wild goose chase. He first had that oaf blurt out just enough to tickle my imagination... And spew that load of bull about Fluffy, like a dark wizard couldn't simply Avada Kedavra the mutt! Then giving me the Invisibility cloak you'd stolen from my father... Oh, and the Mirror of Erised - an assessment of how well the Dursleys and your mind wards had moulded me!"

Harry faltered again at a particularly strong cry coming from Molly Weasley. She heaved forward and overturned her chair, spilling the last of the content of her guts out on the grass. The Weasleys' cries intensified at seeing their matron in such pain, but their misery meant little to Harry, as it came at the cost of once again losing his rhythm. His wand itched to silence the crowd, but after the last incident, he knew better than to pull a stunt like that again. Cursing under his breath, he spit out his toothpick in frustration and instead cast a Sonorus charm at his throat.

"And of course, the whole setup ended with what amounted to a rat maze, where that manipulative fuck had stashed the fake stone. Am I supposed to believe that a priceless artefact was being guarded by traps geared so that three specific first years could break through them? A test! All of it! You just wanted to see what makes me tick, so you could manipulate me even better! Oh, and having that jealous piece of shit take a faked hit on the chess board had surely cemented his position as my _'faithful'_ sidekick. That must have been a real catch for his money grabbing backstabbing family, who got practically unlimited access to my trust-fund! Couldn't even wait 'till your slut of a daughter sealed the deal, you two-faced rats!"

Harry stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. He needed to be much more focused if he was to cover his entire schooling and still have enough time left for the conclusion. He took a quick glance at the audience and growled under his breath when he realized that no one was even pretending to listen anymore. Most of the guests were now shaking from pain, as rivers of blood poured down their faces and into already formed puddles of feces and urine beneath their seats. Some defiant wizards were still gritting their teeth bravely, but the majority was sobbing uncontrollably, wishing the torment would just stop. Another few chairs had fallen over onto a soaked ground, one of the French aristocrats slowly drowning in the puddle of his own vomit and feces. The cries and smells were almost intolerable, even for Harry's hardened stomach. Grimly, he fought down his rising sickness and frustration and added another amplifying charm on his throat.

"I see you don't have a lot of time left, so I'll be quick! The second year; Do you really expect me to believe Dumbledore didn't know where the Basilisk was coming from!? The old goat had his portrait spies all over the fucking school! No way they missed a 50 foot snake slithering through the halls! Oh and no one got killed? Now that was some coincidence, wasn't it!? Bullshit! Just another test for your little pet project! Third year, Sirius escaped... but I already covered that... It was a small hurdle in your plans, that's for sure. Not that it stopped you stealing and manipulating me further, of course. Got a drop on you when I broke through the blocking wards with that Patronus, didn't I? Fourth year and Triwizard Tournament..."

Harry's booming voice trailed off when he saw Sturgis Podmore ram his throat through a fork he was holding pressed against the table. With a gurgling sound, he slumped over into McGonagall's lap, eliciting a hysterical cry from the so-far stoical lady.

_Come on, I'm not THAT boring!_ Harry thought indigently. He blinked in surprise when he noticed that Sturgis wasn't the only one who had managed to loosen the ropes. It seemed that constant shaking and distress-induced wild magic helped quite a few guests free themselves from the restrains, allowing Tonks and George Weasley to take a swimming lesson through a pool of body fluids beneath the table.

Glowering at the rapidly deteriorating situation, Harry started levitating people back to the table, while trying to keep his speech flowing at the same time.

"So, the Triwizard Tournament! One giant setup! No way I could get into a magical contract without signing anything! And with the old bastard's constant Legilimency, he must have known quite well who Mad-Eye really was. Dumbledore probably thought he could keep the situation under wraps, but his unwitting pawn caught the old fool unawares, breaking right through his web of manipulations and deceits. See the pattern here yet?" Harry asked suggestively, as he had practiced before a mirror countless times.

But instead of insightful, defeated or self-loathing looks, as he had imagined, no one seemed to have even heard his smart point. Most of the guests appeared lost in their own anguish, either crying limply in their chairs or trying to crawl through the soaked ground. It was interesting that some still harboured an irrational desire to resist and survive, although most were simply trying to move closer to their families and find comfort in each other's arms. His restraining potion was obviously having a hard time fighting against their awoken accidental magic.

Seething in irritation at his ruined speech and ruined revenge and rising sickness in his stomach, Harry savagely wrenched the traitorous werewolf from Tonks' arms and slammed him back into his seat. He doubted he'd have time to pour into his face all the shit he had to live through because the spineless coward was too busy rummaging through his vaults instead of looking after him, as his parents had expected him to. He was about to levitate the other crawlers as well, but then he thought better of it.

_I don't have time for this! Let them crawl through their own shit if they like it so much!_ He seethed, trying to remember where his speech had left off.

"Fifth year! That's when the things got really heated. You screwed up with letting Voldemort out too early, so you set up that whole Prophecy watch to distract him until your prime pawn was properly brainwashed and ready to lay down his life for _'the greater good'_. This is where Granger stepped in, I suspect. Our benevolent headmaster must have had her all riled up about the tests and promised her advanced schooling if she convinced me to train his stupid fan-club. A perfect chance to turn your favourite pawn into a future Hogwarts teacher, where I'd stay indefinitely under the Headmaster's thumb. You must have been delighted when you realized I was your way in into Voldemort's mind. Who would have thought your personal piggy bank had another use!? That greaseball you'd had deepen the link with his true master must have been delighted to be given a full access to his schoolyard rival son's mind!"

Harry's voice rang amidst the hoarse moaning and crying, failing to elicit even a barest response. No one was moving much anymore, nor showing any kind of reaction to his accusing words. In desperation, Harry fired another cannonball charm and hurried on with the talk, trying not to show how sick, frustrated and disappointed he was.

"And then, Voldemort made a move. It was a bummer for you, but hey, at least you got your chance to get rid of Sirius! Nice and clean, not to mention doing it before my very eyes. And then, when you no longer had a choice, you told me the Prophecy and stuffed me back with the Dursleys, for another batch of emotional abuse. Shaken, not stirred; that's the key!"

Harry paused hopefully, but the only reaction to his wit was more moaning and crying. Suddenly, he couldn't take it any longer.

"Hey I'm fucking talking to you! What's the matter with you!? Thousands of fans would kill for a chance to hear me pour out my heart like this! What, already know the entire story!? Is that it!?" he raged, spit flying from his mouth, his superior calmness long gone. Even with his amplified voice booming and his aura flashing uncontrollably, the traitors remained indifferent, lost in their own worlds of pain.

"Don't you pretend you can't fucking hear me!" Harry finally exploded, unleashing his fury into a wildly spinning dark hex, which literally blew one of the poor civilians on the French side of the table into hundreds of tiny bloody bits.

That had garnered him few startled flinches, but except a few more wails and another clumsy suicide attempt, nothing else changed. Most of the traitors just sat there, shaking in pain as trickles of blood freely poured out of their eyes, ears and noses. Suddenly, Harry's brain caught up with his raging temper.

"You... you can't hear, can't you? And you can't see..." he stuttered, as he realized that increased blood pressure must have burst his targets' eardrums and sensitive eye capillaries.

Suddenly, Harry started laughing. His bitter, wheezing barks ringing through the cacophony of cries and dry retches. "They can't hear me!" he kept repeating as his howls became more and more hysterical. "Fucking can't hear..." he finally choked out with the last few chuckles and then slumping deflatedly in a chair at the end of the table.

In his mind, he kept going over and over the events leading to this hurdle... No, he would be honest with himself. This _disastrous failure_. He had picked the best black market potion master the money could buy. He had carefully measured out how long he needed to keep the traitors alive and viciously specified how much he wanted them to suffer. But in his haste to finish everything before the wedding started, he had completely forgotten about such inconsequential details as human psyche, partial restrains or burst eardrums. In his blind desire to cause his betrayers as much pain as possible, he had inadvertently ruined his own chance at having the last word against them. An irony if there ever was one.

In desperation, Harry lifted his wand, thinking that he could maybe heal at least the most notorious traitors and give them the chance to get a taste of the grand finale he'd been rehearsing for so long. But his shoulders slumped as he realized it was of no use; high blood pressure would just deafen them all over again, leaving him to suffer light magic backslash for nothing.

So he just sat there, at the same table with the snivelling wrecks he used to consider mentors and friends, and watched as their lives literally poured out of them. The cries and hoarse mumbles gradually quieted down, as the traitors slumped in their chairs or wherever the last dregs of strength had taken them. For another minute or so, all that could be heard was pained breezing and whimpering coming from several dozen shivering, tortured bodies spread around the long table where a celebration was supposed to take place. And then, one by one, the bodies stopped moving altogether, some with pained rasps of dread, others with long-suffered sighs of relief. At last, the slumped and bloodied form of Ginny Weasley let out her final breath, leaving the Burrow's backyard washed in absolute silence.

• • • • •

Long after the last gurgling whimpers had died down, Harry was still sitting there, trying to get his raging feelings under control. For five long years he'd been fantasizing about his vengeance, dreaming of the day when he would finally confront those who had so systematically violated his innocence and trust. He had gone through every little detail of this perfect moment, from his victorious and awe-inspiring pose, over the biting and yet heart-wrenching speech he would unleash with thunderous righteousness, all the way to the traitors posturing before his feet in defeat, begging for forgiveness and mercy they would never receive. He expected a lot from this culmination; Satisfaction that his vengeance has been carried out; Relief that the threat of Dumbledore's command words has been removed; Maybe even jubilation that one chapter of his life was finally closed and he was ready to start anew, without blemishes of his ruined childhood hanging over his head. But instead, what he got was an overwhelming feeling of emptiness in his guts and a bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth.

As he looked over smeared dead faces of his betrayers, he couldn't help but feel that this was simply _not_ what he wanted. He never had the time to prove his moral high ground. He never had the chance to see the traitors confess their crimes and acknowledge their mistakes. In the end, he never had the opportunity to refuse their desperate pleads for forgiveness, to watch as that last glimmer of hope disappear from their scheming eyes.

Harry realized that an outside observer wouldn't have seen a righteous warrior emerging victorious against all odds and bringing vengeance upon those who had wronged him. Instead, they would have seen a backstabbing rat poisoning a wedding party, more than half of whom were innocent, and then ranting and raving as they slowly bled out.

He knew that this shouldn't bother him; after all, he was now a dark wizard. Dark wizards shouldn't care about petty human feelings or social norms; First and foremost on their minds should always be reaching their goal as quickly and efficiently as possible.

And that was exactly what Harry did. The entire contingent of the traitors was gone for good, taking their accursed command words with them. He was finally free to emerge from hiding, with the soothing knowledge that his vengeance had been carried out. By all relevant indicators, today's mission was a tremendous success.

So where the hell was jubilation? Where was relief? Where was that sweet, sweet scent of victory he had grown to relish so much? He should be feeling like a conquering avenger that he was, not like a...

_A backstabbing piece of shit,_ his brain supplied. _Just like THEM..._ Harry cursed his own traitorous thoughts, glaring at the dead bodies surrounding him. _Fucking bastards, even in death they poison my life!_

Logical part of his brain tried to appease his spiralling temper by providing new and new bouts of cold logic. _You were heavily outnumbered and outgunned. This was the only way,_ he tried telling himself. But each new reassurance served only to make him even more dissatisfied and angry with himself.

For a moment there, Harry allowed himself to fantasize what a _proper_ revenge would have been like. He imagined himself tearing down the wards with his superior power and barging into the party uninvited, flinging curses left and right. He would have fucking _forced_ those damn backstabbers to acknowledge his arguments and admit his victory, instead of crying and struggling like a bunch of pussies. Even the command words could have been handled with a simple deafening charm. Or even better, he could have put on a walkman and killed the Weasleys with the sounds of... something hard and angry... maybe that heavy metal thing? Now that would have been a sweet revenge!

In fact, Harry suddenly realized, at that moment he was perfectly willing to take his time turner, turn it six times and repeat the whole showdown _properly_, to hell with caution and overwhelming odds. Solely the knowledge that he would most likely be erased from existence as soon as he tried to change the past made him reluctantly let go of that fantasy. Of course, having the means of fulfilling his desire but being unable to use them only served to incense him further.

And through all the building frustration and anger, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time - confusion about his own feelings.

For five years he'd been a definition of determination and self-reassurance, always knowing exactly who he was and what he wanted. So why was he now all of a sudden relapsing into his old mindframe and having these foolish fantasies of acting like some empty-headed Gryffindor? With a tingle of self-disgust, he abruptly realized that this 'heavy metal avenger' fantasy of his was utterly idiotic - a pointless risk that no sane wizard would ever take. So why in the Merlin's name did he think it was a 'cool' idea just moments ago? Was he experiencing some sort of lingering after-effects of Dumbledore's mind-ward? Or was _that_ who he truly was?

As soon as _that_ idea passed through Harry's mind, it was as if a dam broke and his old fears and insecurities started re-emerging from their five years long exile. He thought he had gotten rid of them when he shed off the last of Dumbledore's blocks and restraints. He was so sure he was finally living the life he was supposed to live. But was this really the truth, or was his current 'self' just another mask he was manipulated into? Had he spent so much time under various masks that he forgot the look of his real face? Was there ever a person, a human being, a natural entity named 'Harry James Potter', or was that merely the name of a tool moulded to perform someone else's bidding?

All the frustration, anger and disappointment suddenly became too much for Harry. He exploded from his chair screaming like a trapped beast, his wand buckling as it unleashed wave upon wave of scorching destruction over the entire enclosure. It took all the willpower he had left to prevent himself from incinerating the body of Molly Weasley, to which the wards were still tied to and would remain so while there's any magic left in it. A minute later, a five foot wide circle of drenched grass surrounding Molly's corpse was the only remaining oasis in the carbonized wasteland that was once the Burrow's backyard lawn.

Harry gazed at this image for another second or two, his eyes flashing as his anger slowly shifted from his own actions towards the other, more deserving targets.

"I'm sick of this angst shit," he growled and angrily turned his back to the scorched backyard, feeling utterly disgusted by his own hotheadedness. He hadn't felt this emotional in years, ever since he had put his past behind him and immersed himself completely into his predetermined role in life. This unexpected relapse had brought up the old, repressed memories of the time when he was just a confused foolish Gryffindor, helplessly caught in a web on intrigue, lies and betrayals. Needless to say, he didn't appreciate the feeling at all.

_It's this fucking place that's gotten my head so screwed up,_ he told himself. _The mere sight of the traitors must have brought out some lingering traces of my old forged personality... Yes, that's probably it. Fucking backstabbers, will I ever get rid of their meddling?_

With a deep sigh, Harry closed his eyes and carefully shoved all his insecurities and doubts deep under the blissful haze of his mental shields. He could analyze his screwed up brain later. Now, he had a job to do and a limited time to do it. Having finally composed himself enough to function again, he resolutely strolled into the house, intent on putting the whole 'temper tantrum incident' behind him.

With more nostalgia that he felt comfortable with, Harry scanned the familiar homely interior of Burrow's living room and kitchen, his eyes stopping on the family clock which had only one hand left on it. He couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl up his spine when he realized just how unnaturally quiet the house was. All his memories of the Burrow were of a lively place, full of cheer and happiness. Of course, he was now aware that this image had probably been merely an illusion created for the sake of imprinting into his brain what the 'perfect' light family should be like. But somehow, it still felt _wrong_ that the only noise in the Burrow was an occasional muffled bang coming from the upper floors and confused whirling of the single hand left on the Weasleys' family clock.

Harry's nostalgic mood was squashed away when he started noticing various knickknacks and pieces of clothing spread around the living room, that were well out of the Weasleys' price range.

_I guess I should feel lucky that the idiots were too Gryffindorish to hold off their embezzling until Ginny had me completely in her claws,_ he theorized.

He was just about to repeat his locator spell, when he spotted a door that he didn't remember from his previous visits to the Burrow.

_Ahh, this must be where they attached the Order's headquarters._

Sweeping through his enemies' base of operations was merely a secondary goal of this mission, but his curiosity had a nasty habit of getting the better of him. He cautiously approached the entrance, casting detection charms on his way.

_Muggle construction engineers would have had a fit if they saw something like this,_ he thought, as the results started pouring in. The whole annex seemed to have been transfigured from the surrounding garbage, charmed not to fall apart and roughly 'glued' on to the rest of the house.

Once he made sure the Headquarters weren't booby-trapped, Harry stepped in and found himself inside a good-sized rectangular room, dominated by a large central table overflowing with maps, documents and recently used coffee and tea dishes. Lined along the walls were two filing cabinets, some bookshelves, one sturdy-looking cupboard with a lock and what seemed like the Order's equipment rack, which was basically a set of shelves brimming with scrying orbs, tracking devices, extendable ears and other magical knickknacks. The walls not covered by furniture held a mess of 'wanted' warrants, funny 'motivational' posters, charts of the death eater hierarchy and two large maps with small animated pins sticking out of them; one of the Great Britain and the other of the world.

Harry was immediately attracted to the map of the world, which occupied most of the wall opposite to the entrance. He carefully examined blue pins spread over the map and realized all of them were marking the exact spots which he had visited during his odyssey. Each marker had a little note attached to it, describing the date and circumstances of his appearance. Between the pins lay spread a network of arrowed blue lines, which could have roughly depicted Harry's trajectory through the world if not for their conflicting order.

Harry allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction at seeing the Order's apparent confusion by his evasion tactics. It was one thing to be mentally aware of your victory and completely different to stand inside your enemies' very headquarters and witness with your own eyes their failed efforts at bringing you down. It was this jolt that finally brought some of that sweet scent of victory he has been missing so far.

Eager for more, Harry opened the filing cabinet and quickly located his own dossier. He was a bit disappointed to see the file was limited mostly to his Hogwarts years. All the info from his earlier childhood was missing - probably destroyed or stored elsewhere - and the intelligence from after his escape was scarce at best. In fact, it was a joy to see just how little did the Order learn about his expedition. Bulk of the documentation consisted of routine reports, neatly stacked Gringotts drafts, several eyewitness statements and a few camera snapshots, most of which he'd allowed to be taken.

Going through the reports, Harry learned that the Order had managed to uncover merely four tutors he had studied under, only one of whom had agreed to cooperate.

"Pierre Deprez," he read the name from the thickest report, not at all surprised by his one-time master's breach of agreement. After all, the crazy old Frenchman's reputation must have taken a severe beating when his mysterious student savagely destroyed one of the portraits sent to him for repairs, before disappearing into the night.

Harry smiled thinly, remembering his surprise when, barely six months after his flight to France, his charms master suddenly received a package with a very familiar return address in England. At the time, Harry had nearly forgotten about the unresponsive portrait of Albus Dumbledore he'd left behind during his hectic escape. In retrospect, he should have realized that the Order would pick a portrait repairman from a list of Dumbledore's contacts similar to the one he himself was following.

As Deprez started performing his initial tests with gusto of a toddler given a new toy, Harry came to realize just how foolish his casual dismissal of the painting's potential danger truly was. If Dumbledore knew the command words embedded into his brain, his portrait would surely know them too. All it would take was one excited 'Aha' coming from Deprez, followed by a command sentence from the freshly awakened portrait and his little rebellion would be over before it had truly began. After more than seven nerve-wrecking hours of looking over his teacher's shoulder, desperately hoping his attempts at reviving the old bastard's avatar would fail, Harry knew exactly what he had to do. That same night, he erased his tracks to the best of his abilities, destroyed the accursed portrait and fled France.

The only detail in Deprez's report that truly caught Harry's attention was a vague reference to something about...

"Dumbledore's missing body?" Harry read the line incredulously. "When the hell did that happen?"

Leaving the file open on the table, he went back to the archives and quickly located Dumbledore's own folder. _This should be interesting,_ he thought eagerly, as he opened the file.

It turned out it wasn't. The old man had obviously been too smart to leave any hint of his true plans in a file cabinet that honest people - and the Order had certainly had a few - could access. Quickly browsing through useless, censored junk, he finally found what he was looking for in the last report in the stack.

As it turned out, on the Halloween of 1997, five months after his funeral, someone somehow managed to break into Dumbledore's crypt and steal his earthly remains. The strangest aspect of the mystery was that the Hogwarts wards apparently reported only miniscule amounts of magic released near the crypt - certainly not enough to break its protections. McGonagall immediately covered up the incident from the public, while launching her own investigation. This was where things got even weirder. According to the Order examiners, the detected magic was used merely to distract the wards, while the real ramming force came from _within_ the crypt - a direction which the preoccupied wards were not able to defend against. Strangely enough, this was pretty much where the investigation ended. Some quiet inquires were made through appropriate underground channels, but with no new leads to follow, the Order apparently wrote off their leader's body as a casualty of war and moved on to more current matters, leaving the case unsolved.

Shaking his head in wonderment, Harry put away the strangely incomplete case-file and leaned back into his chair, lost in thoughts.

_How the hell did they manage to blow the door open from the inside? Plant a transfigured infiltrator in Dumbledore's robes during his funeral? Portkey some brave lunatic inside the crypt? Fill the tomb with water and let the pressure do the job?_ He analyzed, trying to avoid the most terrifying possibility, until his brain suddenly blurted it out. _What if Dumbledore is still alive?_

As soon as the thought hit him, Harry's mind spiralled down into the depths of far-stretched possibilities and conspiracy theories.

_Could Dumbledore have survived the Killing Curse? Was that what the Legilimency conversation with Snape was all about? Properly underpowered Killing Curse would leave you with barely a nosebleed, everyone knows that. Shit, I should have questioned Snape further once I had the chance!_

Harry jumped from the chair and started pacing back and forth across the room, chewing his toothpick nervously.

_Let's say Dumbledore had somehow cushioned his fall from the Astronomy tower and then immediately taken the Draught of Living Death. He's declared dead, buried and eventually forgotten. Several months later, he's awoken and let out by a secret ally. And then, there's the fact that McGonagall did her best to cover this all up and burry the investigation! Coincidence or not? But what about the rest of the Order? Wouldn't Dumbledore's own organization know he's alive? What's the point of all the cloak and dagger stuff? Unless..._ His eyes widened in realization._ Unless it's me he's after! Shit, has he been following me? Is he watching me right now? Is he the behind these stupid relapses and rampart emotions? God, is he trying to turn me back into his pawn!? Have I ever stopped being his pawn in the first place!?_

"No!" Harry suddenly snapped aloud, stopping his spiralling imagination in tracks. _Enough with this paranoia shit! The breakout took place on Halloween, for Merlin's sake! Voldemort must have snatched the old man's body himself and burned it on a stake somewhere. The bastard is dead! Gone! End of story_, he told himself sternly as he grabbed Dumbledore's file, stuffed it back into the file cabinet and slammed the door shut.

Pushing all the paranoid theories to the back of his mind, Harry went back to his own file, hopeful that reviewing it would help him repress seeds of self-doubts wriggling in his stomach.

Deprez's testimony revealed little he didn't already suspect. The old loon had pretty accurately predicted his tremendous potentials, but that obviously did the Order little good in helping them track him down. The same could be said for the assessments of his skills, which were now almost five years out of date to boot. The remainder of the file consisted mostly of the leading agent's personal notes and observations, which were interesting enough, but in the long run, once again obsolete and useless.

Harry was just about to put his file back into the archive and go on with his mission, when small tab on the cover of the folder caught his attention. Inside a frame titled 'Related files', one caption stood out like a sore thumb.

"_Yin and Yang!?_" he read the title incredulously. "How the hell did they found out about... _that_?"

Feeling slightly worried by this new development, Harry looked under the 'Y' compartment of the filing cabinet and indeed, there was a file titled 'Yin and Yang references'. With a strange sense of dread, he opened the folder and retrieved several dictated reports, one set of wizarding photographs and a ragged white envelope with a large yin-yang symbol over its face.

Harry's stomach flip-flopped when he recognized the envelope of the first message he had ever received from Yin-Yang. Thinking back to that last day he had ever spent inside Number 4, Privet Drive, he realized he must have simply crumpled the envelope and flung it into a trash-can, unaware of the revelations his correspondent would bring. He was only thankful he had taken the letter itself with him, preventing the Order snoops from learning anything more substantial about his mysterious helper.

Next item he inspected, however, was a bit more damaging. Looking at a stack of photograph, Harry was astonished to recognize the one place on Earth he believed the Order would never gain access to - the Chamber of Secrets; Or even worse, the interior of Slytherin's personal ritual chamber, the place where he had performed his first ever ritual more than five years ago. Everything was there just as he had left it - candle remains, blood-red pentagram, faded runes and the corpse of his first ever ritual sacrifice.

His heart, however, skipped a beat when he came across a series of pictures examining details of Yin-Yang's message he had hastily erased. The first picture displayed merely a fluorescent smudge on the wall, but with each subsequent photo, the message was becoming clearer and clearer. Remus and Shacklebolt could be seen standing beside the fairly readable message on the final photograph, tired but satisfied smiles shining from their faces.

_Damn, that stupid dust is more resilient that I thought,_ Harry chastised himself for not removing the message properly. Even though this particular oversight didn't prove fatal in the long run, he knew that a man who doesn't learn from his mistakes is bound to repeat them.

_But how the hell did the Order get into the Chamber?_ he couldn't help but wonder, as he browsed further through the file. The answer became clear when he reached a 'related items' addendum.

_Oh, of course, I should have realized,_ he scoffed, as he approached the rack with various recording devices and tapped his wand on the one labelled 'REC-PT-1'.

_"Open,"_ the tripod-like gadget hissed in Parseltongue, confirming his suspicions.

Harry didn't know if the Order had bought the recording from one of the few Parselmouths in the world who performed such services, or if Dumbledore had secretly taped him, but in retrospect, it didn't really matter. One way or another, both the Order and Yin-Yang managed to gain access into the Chamber of Secrets, proving that Salazar's security system had definitely failed the test of time. After all, while the famous founder had every right to fancy himself the only Parselmouth of his age, ten centuries of adultery, expansion and conquest had passed since then.

Satisfied that at least one mystery was solved, Harry scanned the file one more time, eventually confirming that the Order had no better idea as to who or what Yin-Yang was, than he himself did. Browsing back to the addendum, he knew there was just one more thing left to check. Under the 'related items' caption, there was another item listed besides the Parselmouth recording, this one apparently stored inside the locked cabinet.

A few unlocking spells later Harry was standing before the Order's collection of dark, forbidden or potentially dangerous objects they had confiscated in their line of work. He quickly scanned over the artefacts, mentally cataloguing the ones he himself could use. Eventually, he located the item listed inside the Yin & Yang file. To his surprise, it appeared to be a rather plain looking brown envelope. He flipped it over and gasped when he saw a big, black yin-yang symbol printed on its face.

Beads of sweat appeared on Harry's forehead when he realized this wasn't one of his own correspondences that the Order had somehow retrieved, but a brand new letter, clearly addressed to the Weasley family. To make the matter even stranger, the letter was still unopened.

_What could have prevented the Order from inspecting such a vital clue? Unless..._

Harry carefully removed the letter from its protective satchel and inspected it more thoroughly. His suspicions were confirmed when he recognized Gringotts' _'Wills & Testaments'_ golden seal on the envelope's seam. He knew what that symbol meant - the letter would remain 'locked' until the individual it had been 'attuned to' pass away or break the seal in person. He now also understood the Order's reluctance to try and force the envelope open. No ward in the world can keep a thief away from his loot, but it can certainly keep the loot away from the thief. In this case, even if the Order's experts managed to bypass the Goblins' sophisticated wards, they'd only end up activating the self-destruct mechanism, ultimately coming out short-handed either way.

Harry's attention was suddenly drawn to a red writing he had missed earlier thanks to a dark-brown colour of the parchment. His eyes bugged over when he read what appeared to be a warning to the letter's recipients.

• • • • •

_This letter will unseal only once **Harry Potter** is **dead**._

_Do NOT try to force the envelope open, as it would only lead to its self-destruction._

• • • • •

"What the hell..." Harry trailed off, rereading the warning incredulously. It wasn't that getting a hold of his blood was very difficult - Merlin knows he'd visited the Hogwarts infirmary enough times during his school years. It was more the sheer surprise that his mysterious helper would send such a strange correspondence to the very enemies he had warned him against.

_What could be in it?_ Harry wondered. _Maybe a final howler in case I failed? Or data on Voldemort's operations, to help the only remaining opposition against him, regardless of how corrupted they were? Perhaps a deadly booby-trap, to avenge my death? Or maybe the letter is actually intended for ME to read it, once I've broken into the Order Headquarters?_

Harry shrugged, forestalling any future wild theories. _Well, there's only one way to find out._

As his hands nervously reached for the seal, excitement bubbled in his veins. After five years of silence, he would finally receive another clue about his secretive benefactor, perhaps even uncover their true identity!

_Whoever they are, Yin & Yang would certainly be a mighty ally in the final leg of my quest, _Harry schemed, thinking back to the way his helper had masterfully unmasked a conspiracy which had had him fooled for more than a decade. Still dreaming up a potential partnership, his thumbs sank into the red seal, breaking it open.

With a bang and a hiss, black fire suddenly exploded from the crack, startling Harry out of his reverie. Instinctively, he jumped away from the smoking letter, placing himself behind a strongest quick-shield he could manage. But instead of exploding into his face, the fire turned inwards and burned straight through the letter, leaving only a handful of ash behind.

For several seconds, Harry could only stupidly stare through his useless shield at the remains of the biggest clue about Yin-Yang's identity he'd had in five years. Suddenly, he sprung forward and started rummaging through the ashes, as if his diligence might bring back at least the tinniest piece of evidence he had hoped to get.

"Fuck!" spat at the ashes after a few seconds of futile search, realizing that the Goblins wouldn't make such an amateurish mistake.

This whole affair left him even more confused than angry. He just couldn't understand why would Yin-Yang send a letter to his enemies and secure it so that it could be opened only after _his_ death. Even more confusing was the fact even he himself wasn't able to access the message, which went against the Gringotts' standard Will & Testament policy. Was Yin-Yang truly his 'friend', or did this person or organization have their own agenda on mind? Was he once again merely a tool used to achieve someone else's goal?

In retrospect, Harry admitted he should have examined his _benefactor's_ motivation more carefully. But then again, he acknowledged that there was nothing he would have done differently, regardless of the conclusions he came up with. After all, when all is said and done, Yin-Yang _did_ point out the web of intrigue and betrayal that had been woven around him. They _did_ help him break free from both the old puppet master's grasp and his minions intent on finishing the job he had started. Whatever Yin-Yang's motivation was, Harry would always be grateful for the freedom they had given him.

_But hadn't Dumbledore also looked after you, even saved your life once or twice? Does that mean you should be grateful to him as well?_ a small stubborn voice in his head persisted asked, creating another small crack in the mindset that seemed rock solid only several hours ago.

Shaking his head in frustration, Harry glanced at his watch and sucked in his breath when he realized he'd spent almost half an hour rummaging through the Order's dirty laundry. He barely had an hour left before the wards will collapse, notifying the Aurors of the break-in. With a vicious mental shove, Harry pushed another bout of questions and conflicting feelings behind his Occlumency shields. He knew it was merely a temporary solution, for which he would pay dearly later on, while sorting through the day's events. Nevertheless, he had a job to do and going into philosophical debates about his feelings certainly wouldn't help him get it done.

With his mind cleared of all the emotional clutter, Harry was now able to concentrate solely on the task at hand. His wand became a blur as an array of detection, examination and scrying charms started flying throughout the room, looking for the emergency evacuation controls.

He knew he was once again wasting time, but he had no other choice. Interrogating a captured Order member would have sped things up, but with command words lurking behind every corner, that was simply too big of a risk to take. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to mask one of the command words as a veritaserum-friendly answer to some commonly asked question, or have his minions memorize a piece of paper with command words written on it. Who knew what clever safeguards the old bastard had put in place?

Five minutes later, the last of the illusion and distraction wards were dislodged from the walls and a secret command panel behind a fake wall located and forced open. Inside, Harry found a glowing orange opal tied to a network of runic tables and pre-set shrinking spells, all of which made the core of the Order's emergency relocation system. It took him ten minutes of precise wandwork to untangle the mess of runic power lines and disconnect the ones in charge of security. With one final tap, he repacked the scheme back into its active form and then tapped the glowing opal, intoning, _"Arcto ac refugere!"_

Harry slowly backed out, as the room's furniture, maps and documents started gliding along the walls, first slowly and then faster and faster. Soon enough, the room's entire content was zooming around at breakneck speed, caught in a vicious magical tornado. The entire twister suddenly contracted into itself, sucking the entire mess of papers, trinkets and cabinets into a plain looking wooden trunk, which miraculously appeared in the midst of the chaos. With one final 'clap', the trunk closed itself shut, sealing the tornado from the now empty headquarters.

Nodding appreciatively at the efficient packing system, Harry sent the trunk to wait for him outside, knowing he would spend many happy hours ruffling through its contents. Dark or light, righteous or evil, no one has ever said no to the spoils of war.

Casting another glance at his watch, Harry hurried out of the empty headquarters, eager to finally get the second part of the job done. He re-cast his Horcrux locator spell and followed the magical line as it curved upwards, disappearing through the low wooden ceiling. He started climbing the Burrow's narrow staircases, expecting the line to steer into one of the side rooms. But even on the fifth landing, where the stairs ended, the line was still curving upwards, through the ceiling of Ron's unpleasantly orange room. With a mental shrug, Harry located a pair of ladders and climbed another level up, finding himself in the Burrow's cramped attic. The line was now pointing straight towards a huge crate in the back of the dusty room.

Feeling the excitement build up, Harry cancelled the locator spell and took a few tentative steps towards the crate. This was it. After five long years of training and searching, he finally located the sixth and final Horcrux. He honestly expected it to be something more dignified then an old crate inside some dusty attic, but far be it from him to complain about having a lucky break once in a while.

_Bang!_

In a blink of an eye, Harry was several feet from where he had been standing, hidden behind a bright blue shield that hung from his wand-tip.

_Bang! Bang!_

Loud, rhythmic sounds kept coming from the direction of the Horcrux crate, each one raising hairs on the back of Harry's neck. He remained frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity, poised to blast away whatever monster was guarding the Horcrux. But other than more bangs and some low guttural growling, nothing came out of the darkness. Eventually, he decided to take the initiative.

Switching to the strongest portable shield from his arsenal, Harry carefully moved towards the source of the banging. He crouched behind the Horcrux crate, his heart jumping with each bang coming from the other side. Gathering his nerves, he sprung up from behind the cover, a curse already on his lips. To his surprise, he found his wand pointed at the back of a pale, gaunt man in tattered clothes. Not even noticing the intrusion, the man remained kneeled behind the Horcrux crate and kept banging his fist against the floor.

Harry had enough experience not to be deterred by the unexpected sight. "Who are you?" he snapped, his wand poised to strike at any sign of danger.

The man slowed down his banging to a stop and then, with another low guttural growl, he sluggishly turned around. Only with a tremendous effort of will did Harry manage not flinch at the sight of hundreds of yellow, sap infected scars that marred the man's... no, the _thing's_ entire body.

_Inferi! Kill it!_ all his instincts screamed, but his wand wavered when he spotted something that no ordinary zombie ever had - a dash of intelligence, a _purpose_, glinting from behind his cold, dead eyes. It took Harry only a moment to connect the creature's banging habit with half-forgotten sleepovers in the room beneath the attic.

"A ghoul," he murmured as he relaxed and lowered his wand. _Or more precisely, the infamous ghoul from the Burrow's attic. The jealous prick had bored the walls with his constant bragging about a genuine article living in his attic._ _I guess he hadn't been bullshitting about that at least._

Even though he tended to steer around theoretical gibberings, Harry knew enough about ghouls to appreciate their uniqueness and rarity. From what he remembered, a ghoul was basically a ghost trapped inside his or hers old body. There were numerous documented ways to cause such phenomenon and most of them involved some form of dark magic, be it a power enhancing ritual, inferi transformation, one of the outlawed shortcuts in animagus training or any number of other methods of messing with one's life essence. And even though the trapped soul was a victim as often as a perpetrator, the Ministry, in all its single-minded predictability, frowned harshly at the existence of such 'abnormalities'.

Over the centuries, various attempts have been made at releasing the restless souls from their mortal cages. The results, however, had been erratic at best. Experience had shown that freed spirits were usually too damaged to turn into proper ghosts, and instead either dissipated completely, never to take a tangible form again, or turned into semi-corporal chaotic sprites, widely known as _poltergeists_. Thus, in the course of history, only a handful of ghouls who had fallen into the government's hands had ever managed to complete their earthly business and peacefully move on to the afterlife. All this, of course, only made the presence of an actual ghoul locked in the Weasleys' attic so much more intriguing.

_Why hadn't they simply called the Ministry and let them take care of the wretched thing?_ _Did they see some sort of gain in having such asset under their control? Or did they hope to reaffirm their image of good little light-siders, under the guise of 'helping the poor soul out'? Maybe it was merely some misguided attempt at redemption for their other crimes? After all, it's not like keeping the thing locked up was costing them anything other than a bit of attic space._

As these thoughts passed through his head, Harry carefully inspected the ragged creature, prodding and analyzing every minute detail he had missed at the first glance. There was really no way to tell what the ghoul looked like before his death. His entire face and arms were perforated by deep parallel scars, which looked like animalistic scratch marks, except that they came in groups of _five_. Their sharp edges were surprisingly well preserved, with few signs of deterioration and rotting. The same could be said for the ghoul's robes, which even though had their own share of five-clawed tear marks, were almost completely clean of dirt. Thinking back to the kind of rotten, flea-bitten dust-bags he got used to working with, Harry found the ghoul's neatness more than a little strange. A buried corpse rots fast and tears up its clothes while trying to climb out of the grave. This one had obviously been protected in some way until the inferi enchantments kicked in, sealing its skin from further deterioration.

Even as Harry took all this in, his frown deepened in puzzlement. He felt there was more to this ghoul than met the eye, an elusive detail that kept tugging at the memories pushed to the far depths of his mind.

_It's the smell,_ he suddenly realized. A faint spicy flavour clearly stood out in the damp stench of the attic, bringing up memories of salt and algaes and caves...

_Why the hell am I even thinking of the damn ghoul?_ Harry shook his head, annoyed by his rampart thoughts. _I should really get back to the crate, that's where the locator..._

And then, just like that, the disjointed puzzle pieces fell into place, forming a startling picture.

"Of course," Harry gasped in realization, his lips stretching into a satisfied smirk. "So this is where you've been hiding all these years, _Regulus Black._"

A glint of recognition in the dead eyes, followed by a low guttural growl was all the confirmation Harry needed. His mind whirled with new possibilities, long sought explanations and smouldering questions, and he knew there was only one way to satisfy his accursed curiosity. Almost automatically, he met the ghoul's... _Regulus'_ eyes, raised his wand and softly intoned, "_Legilimens._"

A whirlwind of memory snapshots engulfed Harry's consciousness, but his well-trained mind quickly took control, shakily pushing the mind probe through the ghoul's half-ruined neural pathways. With some difficulty, he managed to set up proper associative channels and started his trip through Regulus's irreparably damaged memories.

The first image Harry received was of himself... no, of _Regulus_, standing in some shady forest and speaking with a stocky red haired man that Harry instantly recognized as one of the Prewett twins from the Old Crowd photograph.

"Ahh, so Sirius Black's baby brother finally shows his true colours - those of a coward," the Order agent sneered. "I remember you from school, little _Reggie_. You and your slimy buddies were all over You-Know-Who's arse while it was just talk. What's the matter now, baby boy? You've had one little whiff of the real stuff and already had enough? Life of a dark cohort doesn't agree with your sensitive pampered tummy? Well, boo-fucking-hoo... Argh!"

Image of the Prewett's mocking face suddenly got lost in a maelstrom of fear, anger and frustration. When the memory cleared up, there were two shaking hands clenched around the Order agent's neck.

"Who the fuck are you to lecture me about war!?" Regulus hissed, his voice dripping with rage and desperation. "You and your pathetic little weekend warriors... Self titled high and mighty protectors of the light! Ha! Think yourself so brave to gather 'round a fire once a week and whisper stories of the big bad dark lord? A bogeyman most of you haven't even seen! Well he's very fucking real for me, you conceited fuck!" Harry's point of view shifted even closer, as his host's disembodied voice turned into a furious hiss. "Poor fool, you have _no_ idea... _NO_ idea whatsoever what the dark lord is capable of, what he did... what I helped... what he... he made me do..."

Regulus' voice turned more and more hysterical, as flashes of old, disjointed memories overflowed Harry's view.

_A small girl tied in a sacrificial circle... A voice - Regulus' voice - chanting verses of the exclusive Black family lore... A satisfied smirk on the Dark Lord's face as magic swirls around his naked, pale body... A hand holding a silver serpentine dagger... A hissed order "Finish it!"... The dagger shivers but still manages to find its way between the child's ribs... Howls of magic and hisses of ecstasy and cries of guilt... A hand drops the bloodied dagger in horror... The power-high Dark Lord gloating about his own invulnerability, until he passes out from exertion... A wand casting a memory charm at the spent dark lord..._

The maelstrom of snapshots ended when the Order agent pushed off blubbering Regulus, sending him to the ground.

"What the hell do you want from us?" Prewett swam back into the view, looking rather unnerved by the sudden attack. "To show you leniency because you're _bloody sorry_? Gift-wrap you an amnesty from the punishment you rightly deserve? You expect us to just snap our fingers and make it all go away?"

"Can you give me my soul back?" Regulus murmured deflatedly from the grass, not even bothering to wipe the tears that smudged Harry's view.

"The world doesn't work that way, _boy_," Prewett spat back, now completely recovered. "You wanna run your mouth off with your little slimy racist friends? _Fine_, be my guest! But once you've taken that filthy mark, there's no going back! You've made your choice and we'll make damn sure you face the consequences!"

The man leaned in and leered in a very un-Weasley-like fashion. "So you still want out? Alright, you'll get your chance. But be warned, boy, redemption doesn't come cheap, even with good old Dumbledore. You better be ready to bust your dandy little arse for it. I'm sure the old man can always use another filthy piece-of-trash turncoat for his-"

"No!" snapped Regulus' voice, as Harry's view shifted up. He was now once again on the eye-level with the other man. "I've no intention of joining my idiot brother in his foolish fight for the mudblood cause. If I had, I'd be talking to the old fool in person instead of you."

"You actually _wanted_ to plead your case with me?" Prewett asked with an incredulous chuckle, before his scowl returned with vengeance. "You'll get no sympathy from me, _death eater_. As far as I'm concerned, you can crawl back to your slimy master and shove your head up his arse until you suffocate. That's more than murdering purist filth like you deserve," he said coldly.

Surprisingly, Regulus' lips stretched into a mocking smirk. "Be that as it may, I'm not asking for sympathy or forgiveness, especially not from the likes of you. It's yours and your brother's unique skills I'm after."

"What?" Prewett asked perplexedly. Harry could almost feel memory Regulus rolling his eyes.

"You know, the _famous_ Prewett twins? The illustrious trinket maestros of Ravenclaw? The youngest enchantment masters in last couple of centuries?"

Prewett's his eyes widened disbelievingly, before forming a furious glare. "If you think you're gonna recruit me and my brother for your-"

"Oh heavens no," Regulus countered calmly. "Here's what I'm planning to-"

The memories become fuzzier at this point, until they were finally lost in the static of disjointed images and sounds. After failing to bring them up again, Harry theorized that only stressful, emotion-filled events were carved into the cortex deep enough to survive the brain's death and 20 years of half-life as a walking corpse. More mundane memories were probably irreparably damaged by the ravages of time. With a mental shrug, Harry fast-forwarded through the static, until he reached the next clear patch of the ghoul's memory.

"No! I will _NOT_ have the Order know its location and that's final!" Regulus' screaming voice came into focus. As the image stabilized, Harry wasn't surprised to see Prewett's blotchy face once again hanging mere inches from his view. It seemed that the youngest Black had fallen into another ranting fit, confirming his theory about emotional memories being more resilient than the average ones. "I want nothing to do with your stupid vigilante club and the blood-traitor filth you're trying to save! I'm not doing this for the likes of you and your worthless approval! I'm doing this for _me_ and _me alone_! This is _my_ redemption! _My_ revenge! Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,_ soul for soul_!"

Prewett finally managed to push the spitting death eater away and take a few steps backwards. He gave Regulus a strange once-over, obviously beginning to question the man's sanity. After a second or two, he shrugged it off, as if saying, _What do I have to lose?_

He then pulled out his wand and tapped a small pin he had retrieved from his lapel, before giving the newly-made portkey to Regulus. Harry managed to glimpse a small cog-shaped blue brooch, with a golden brain symbol and two stylized 'P' letters on it, before Regulus pinned it to his collar.

Prewett nodded approvingly. "That portkey will take you to half a mile away from my brother-in-law's house. Me and my brother will be notified as soon as you activate it, so we'll probably be waiting for you at the house once you get there. If we're detained for any reason, show my cousins, the Weasleys, this broach and they'll at least know not to curse you on sight."

Here the man faltered, obviously not sure what sort of gesture was appropriate to end the meeting between reluctant allies who hated each other's guts - a warning, a formal handshake or best wishes? In the end, he compromised with a shrug and ambivalent grunt of "See you there."

Regulus smirked, secretly amused at the blood-traitor's predicament. He quickly gathered himself and called after the retreating Prewett's back. "Don't forget our deal! This conversation stays between you, your brother and me! I don't want anyone else in on this!"

"Your trust is touching. It'll be as you say," was heard from somewhere behind his back. Harry's view swirled rapidly, but he only had a second to distinguish the other Prewett brother's visage, before twin pops of apparation marked the end of the meeting.

With a simple mental command, Harry's Legilimency probe disengaged from the memory of Regulus cursing the entire Prewett bloodline, and moved onward through the ghoul's mind. After a few seconds of methodical exploration, he located the memory he was looking for. He concentrated his probe on it and soon enough, the disjointed images cleared away to reveal a well known scene of the cliff cave he himself had visited during his last year at Hogwarts.

Harry followed Regulus down the same path he had taken with Dumbledore all those years ago, all the way down to edge of the underground lake. But then, instead of searching for the pulley system, the Heir of Black simply retrieved a broom from his backpack and flew over the clear green water littered with dead bodies.

Of course, things were never that simple. As soon as he reached the central island, inferis jumped up from their slumber and started advancing towards his position. Harry felt Regulus channel solid amounts of magic and next moment, he and the Horcrux cauldron were surrounded by a defensive circle of fire. Surprisingly, instead of trying to charge through the inferno, the zombies stopped at the edge of the island and just stood there waiting.

Knowing that he couldn't hold the fort forever, Regulus quickly approached the cauldron and shakily picked up the bowl next to it, obviously already aware of what he had to do. Harry felt determination swell up within his 'host', as the rogue death eater started slurping the unknown potion, desperately trying to fight down the gag effect.

With every swallow of the disgusting liquid, Harry could hear a chant ringing louder and louder through Regulus' mind. _I will not fail. I will have my redemption. I will clean my hands. I will not fail..._

All the colours and sounds fuzzed over as the potion started taking effect. Harry could sense the dark magic taking grip of something deep inside Regulus' very being, at the same time as foreign thoughts and instructions started attacking his barely conscious mind.

_Of course, inferi inductor,_ Harry realized the potion's true purpose, just as his 'host' drank the last few inches from the cauldron, before letting the bowl slip from his trembling fingers. With last drops of his strength, Regulus replaced the Horcrux at the bottom of the cauldron with an imitation from his pocket, before slumping on the floor, spent.

"Activate," Harry heard Regulus' dry lips rasp in relief and victory, just as the last embers of his fire shield died down. He felt the Prewett's brooch heat up and shudder against his host's shoulder, but nothing else happened.

_Of course, Voldemort must have thought of that,_ Harry reasoned analytically. _That's why the inferi didn't attack. They knew the thief would be helpless after obtaining the locket._

Regulus must have realized that too, as his brief bout of relief disappeared in quickly rising waves of despair and panic. _No! I can't fail now! Not when the accursed thing is already within my grasp! I must succeed! I must ensure its destruction!_

But Harry knew that Regulus' life was already leaking away, as the inferi control potion started strengthening its grip on his mind. "Activate... activate," he heard the doomed man's last desperate attempts, while the walking dead slowly crept around him, their merciless cold fingers already clawing at his helpless body.

_No! I wasn't finished! I mustn't die now! Not yet... Not yet..._

It was strange to hear someone's last thoughts as if they were your own, to see death through someone else's eyes. Harry didn't think that many people throughout history had had the chance to experience something like this.

The last thing he was able to distinguish from his subject's increasingly blurred recollections was Regulus clenching the locket in dead man's grip, while sharp nails clawed through skin, dragging him down into the depths of the underground lake - his undying body's new home. Even as salty water filled his lungs and images and sounds completely faded away, one thought stayed etched upon what remained of his mind.

_Not yet... Not yet... Not yet..._

What followed afterwards was a long series of disjointed flashes, too short to distinguish anything from them. Harry realized that Regulus was only occasionally regaining consciousness, while his trapped soul struggled against the grip of inferi control potion. But if Regulus had anything at this point, it was time. Periods of lucidity became longer and more frequent, until Harry finally sensed the dark mist completely lose its hold on the newly-created ghoul's will.

Through it all, one continuous message could be heard drumming in the back of Regulus' mind, a constant reminder of his sole remaining purpose on Earth.

_Find enchanters... Destroy the locket... Pay my debts... Free my soul..._

At this stretch, images and sounds were a bit fuzzy due to the irreparable damage done to his host's mind and body, but Harry was still able to distinguish the simplistic thought process that had led Regulus out of the lake and up the path towards the exit. It might have taken weeks or maybe even months, Harry wasn't sure, but vague flashbacks of seeking an outside help eventually led the ghoul out of the cave and into the ocean, where something unexpected happened. The long-forgotten Prewett portkey shuddered, as if released from a chain, and next moment, the cliff face was lost in a whirlwind of colours, accompanied by a yanking feeling on the ghoul's back.

When Harry's view cleared up again, he recognized a very familiar patch of forest near the Burrow, not too far from where his makeshift camp would be many years later. Acting on basic human instincts alone, the ghoul mindlessly trudged towards the only visible light source in the vicinity, eventually finding his way through the Burrow's notification wards.

Memories became a lot fuzzier after this point, as the excitement induced by the escape and portkey travel slowly wore off. Harry could only distinguish disjointed pieces of the conversation that had occurred when Molly and Arthur Weasley run out to meet their unexpected guest.

"Hold your wand, that's not a normal inferi..."

"A genuine ghoul at our house, Arthur! We must be blessed by the divine..."

"Molly, you know I don't buy into that superstitious codswallop..."

"He's not dangerous, Arthur. You know that as well as I..."

"Nevertheless, it's my duty to report..."

"Arthur, look! He has the Prewett Designs brooch! He must have been..."

"He could have stolen that..."

"From Gideon and Fabian? Not likely..."

"Molly be reasonable..."

"Arthur, for all we know, the poor dear might have been my brothers' best friend! I will NOT hand him over to the Ministry to be used in their experiments and that's final! I owe Gid and Fab that much!"

"Very well," Arthur Weasley sighed, his voice sounding a bit clearer than before. "I guess we can keep it... _him_ in the attic, until we figure out what needs to be done for him to move on."

While the Weasley patriarch spoke, Harry's view shifted forwards through the door and into the Burrow's cheerful looking living room. He lingered for a moment as he glimpsed a few red-headed toddlers gaping at him openmouthedly, but Molly immediately yanked him on, leading him up the staircase.

"Shouldn't we contact Albus?" her anxious voice was now heard from his left.

"No, if worse comes to worst, the headmaster will need plausible deniability," responded Arthur from his right. From the shifting of his blurred view, Harry could tell that the ghoul was being guided up the stairs by the two Weasleys. "We _are_ breaking the law here, Molly, and Albus _is_ the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. It's better that he never hears of this from us."

"I guess you're right!" Molly responded, before Harry's view shifted upwards as the ghoul was being levitated to the attic.

"Well Mr... Ghoul. You just stay up there... and see what business needs to be finished," Arthur provided somewhat lamely from below, before the trapdoor slammed shut.

"Ohhh, I can't believe we actually have our own ghoul now! If he moves on to the afterlife from our household, the entire family will be blessed by the luck of..." Molly's voice faded away as she hobbled down the stairs.

The memories too became fuzzier at this point, but Harry didn't fight it this time. Having seen enough to satisfy his curiosity, he let his mental probe slowly dissipate as he retreated from the ghoul's mind.

"Not so altruistic after all, you fat bitch," he murmured under his breath, while staring at the ghoul incredulously. Here it was, a product of an almost fantastic series of coincidences, starting from the Dark Lord's lose tongue, over the Prewett brothers' custom portkey design and ending with Molly Weasley's superstition and greed. Who could have predicted that such a ludicrous set of circumstances would obscure the trail of Riddle's final Horcrux? Hell, it even got the old Dumbledore killed!

And as Harry observed the quietly growling ghoul, mulling over all this in his head, he realized exactly what he had to do.

"Greetings, Regulus Black," he said in confident tone. He could have sworn that the ghoul perked up a bit at the mention of his name. "I'm here to destroy the Horcrux, upon our previously arranged agreement. Do you have the locket?"

Recognition flashed in the ghoul's black eyes, as his growling intensified and his posture became more guarded.

Harry proceeded carefully. "We _did_ have an agreement, was it not so? You lacked skills necessary to safely destroy the item, thus you asked for help, yes? I am here to honour that agreement. Will you not do the same?"

The ghoul kept growling, but there was clearly visible hesitation in his posture.

Harry sighed as he realized he was needlessly tangling himself up into another frustrating negotiations with a lesser, barely coherent creature. He knew he could easily dispatch the ghoul and search his body, but for some reason, he hesitated. Looking objectively at his motivations, he realized that, for once that day, he wanted things done _properly_, without cutting corners and applying easy, _Slytherin_ solutions. He knew neither why he wanted something as silly as that, nor how to achieve it in this case, but at least for a few more minutes, he decided to indulge himself.

_Regulus did turn against Voldemort, but that obviously didn't stop him from being an inbred pure-blooded bigot,_ he mused, when an inspiration hit him. _Perhaps a traditionalistic kind of bigot?_

Straightening himself up, Harry placed his wand on the palms of his hands and spoke in a solemn, dignified tone.

"I Fabien Prewett swear upon my life and magic that, if given a chance, I will do everything in my power to safely destroy the Horcrux currently in possession of one Regulus Alphard Black. So mote it be."

He threw Regulus an expectant look, who appeared taken aback by such a bold proclamation. At Harry's raised eyebrow, the ghoul almost comically tried to pull himself together, before managing a growl vaguely resembling the standard response "So mote it be."

_That's good enough I guess,_ Harry decided and channelled some magic through his wand, creating a nice little shower of sparks from its tip. He resisted an urge to role his eyes at the reverence visible in the ghoul's posture and eyes.

_What a foolish superstition,_ he thought distastefully. _A few bonding contracts get accidently formalized by bursts of accidental magic, and everyone's all of a sudden making a big deal out of these so-called 'wizard's oaths'. Rubbish!_

Suppressing a smile, Harry proceeded in a formal tone. "Regulus, you did a wonderful job of procuring the Horcrux and keeping it safe all these years. But your mission on this mortal coil is now coming to an end." He leaned in sincerely, finding it all too easy to force some moisture into his eyes. "Regulus, give me the locket. Let me destroy its evil and release you from the burdens of your past. You have redeemed yourself, my friend. It is time for you to move on."

For a seemingly long time Regulus just stood there, still as a rock, while his eyes stared right back at Harry, brimming with emotions. Then finally, the ghoul lifted his fisted right arm and slowly, almost reluctantly opened his skeletal fingers. And there on the top of his palm, slightly scraped but otherwise fine, laid Slytherin's locket.

_Of course, the poor sod had been banging it against the floor for years, foolishly trying to break it open,_ Harry suddenly realized. _Eh, if that jealous asshole only knew what was the real reason behind the noise he was always whining about..._

Harry carefully retrieved the locket from the ghoul's hand and placed it on the floor. He then started arranging his standard combination of temporary glyphs and runes around the accursed object, his every move carefully analyzed by the suspicious ghoul. He briefly entertained himself with the idea of running away with the locket and leaving the ghoul high and dry, but his heart somehow wasn't in it. For some reason, he actually _wanted_ to help the poor sod.

_This fucking place is turning me back into a pussy,_ he grumbled, idly wondering if there was truly some sort of a suggestive field around the Burrow, turning everyone inside it into insufferable Gryffindors. _Hmm, in fact, that's not such a farfetched idea. Certainly more believable then the one about Coot-Who-Lived hanging over my head. If I had more time, I'd definitely check it out._

Finally done with the all three circles of containment, Harry stood up, took a step back and unceremoniously cast "Avada Kedavra!"

The moment the green curse hit the locket, a swirling cloud of sickly black mist shot out of it, trying to escape its fate. The runic containment circle kicked in, enclosing the Horcrux within a cocoon of bright blue magic. The black mist was now trapped between the locket pulsing with emerald green light, and the rapidly closing dome, against which it fruitlessly slammed, trying to break free. Despite its best efforts, the blue wall steadily advanced against the enraged soul fragment and eventually prevailed by pushing it against the pulsing green aura surrounding the locket. The doomed spirit let go one last soul-wrenching wail of despair, before the whole sphere exploded into a spectacular light show of magic, leaving only a broken shell of the Slytherin's locket behind.

Having made sure the Horcrux was truly gone, Harry turned back towards the ghoul, who was now sporting a strangely peaceful expression on his scared face. The air around him started shimmering with golden light, as an aura of serenity stretched across the silent room. The ghoul's shining eyes met Harry's and even though Regulus said nothing, the message was clearly received on the other end.

"You're welcome," as if in a trance, the dark wizard blurted out in an atypically soft voice.

When the golden glow reached its climax, the sparkle of life faded away from the ghoul's eyes and Harry knew Regulus has finally passed on. Harry opened and closed his mouth perplexedly, something deep inside him urging him to give his fellow soul hunter a proper send-off.

"_Bon voyage mon ami,_" he finally compromised, just as the last of the golden embers slowly winked away.

For several seconds, Harry just stood there, soaking in the atmosphere of peace left in the wake of the ghoul's ascension. But as the magic of the moment faded away, the analytical part of his brain started kicking in. He frowned when he realized he had once again regressed from his proper mindset.

_'You're welcome'? 'Happy journey my friend'!? What the fuck was that all that about!?_

He tried to push some genuine disgust and revulsion into the scowl on his face, but for some reason, his heart simply wasn't in it. Confused and frustrated, he whirled around like a trapped beast. His eyes jumped around the room in suspicion, as if expecting to find Dumbledore peaking from a wardrobe, casting mind-altering charms on him.

But all he found as he turned back around was a clawed swipe aimed for his head. Letting his instincts carry him away from the attacker, Harry brandished his wand to find it pointed at the very ghoul he had just helped ascend. He almost flinched when he met Regulus' eyes; there was no longer a spark of reason shining from his dead pupils; only malice and hate.

_Inferi control potion must have kicked right back in, now when there's no longer a soul to get in its way,_ he realized and immediately took another step away from what was now an ordinary inferi.

_Playing a goody-good Samaritan like some wimp and now letting my guard down_, he thought disgustedly._ What I need is a dose of good old dark magic to whip me back into shape_.

A cold smile stretched across Harry's face, as he summoned his hate and squeezed it into the incantation, "_Carno acidus liquare!_"

An acidic green glob of magic burst out of his wand and slammed straight into the advancing inferi, disappearing inside its chest. The zombie faltered a few steps before dropping on its knees, as hundreds of tiny lacerations started appearing over its body. Its furious growls were lost in the hissing of greenish smoke, which was now pouring in waves from its boiling skin. When the smoke finally cleared, the only thing that remained of Regulus Black's body was a pile of bones swimming in a puddle of blood-red jelly.

_Ahh, isn't that better?_ he cooed to himself, as he felt the last dredges of idiotic sentimentality getting swept away by good old cold pragmatism and common sense. The warm afterglow of Regulus' ascension was completely gone now, letting him finally pull his thoughts together and feel properly disgusted by his earlier weakness.

Satisfied that the things were once again as they should be, he calmly replaced the over-gnawed toothpick in his mouth and bit into a fresh one with the air of somewhat overemphasized relief.

"Nice try!" he sneered at the room in general, as if blaming it for his earlier misconduct. With one final 'hmpf', he turned around and stormed off towards the trapdoor, vindictively stepping on the locket's broken remains.

Back in the living room, Harry soaked in the unusual stillness that had taken over the house. This time, not even the ghoul's thumping was there to break the eerie silence. _The Burrow is now truly dead_, he realized.

Shaking off the goosebumps, he retrieved another one of his home-made alchemy orbs from his robes. A red tag on it clearly labelled it as a 'gobbler orb'.

_This is as good place as any,_ he decided as he flung the glass ball at the floor before him. The orb burst into a million pieces, releasing a mass of black sand-like substance. The sand instantly came alive and started milling over the floor, spreading like a stain on linen. Satisfaction shone from the dark wizard's face as he observed his own creation doing what it was meant to do - eat and expand.

While waiting for the chain-reaction to build up, Harry thought back to the origins of his invention. It was basically a magical version of a muggle concept known as _nano-technology_. As was often the case with such radical ideas, the basic theory was fairly straightforward.

Step one: Create a machine capable of reproducing itself without human supervision.

Step two: Place it inside an environment rich with materials it needs to reproduce.

Step three: Order it to keep constructing smaller copies of itself, transferring this order to each made copy.

The result of this endeavour should be an entire culture of artificially cultivated micro-robots, capable of performing whatever tasks their human masters program them to do. But before tackling jobs such as machine maintenance or bridge building, which was the ultimate goal, muggle scientists knew they'd have to figure out the basics first. And one of the simplest, most fundamental tasks any living or artificially created intelligence can perform is – _destroy_.

Thus came the vision of a destructive army of micro-machines - the so called _gobblers -_ which sole purpose is to keep creating copies of themselves from the surrounding material, until there's nothing else left in the world. _Eat and expand_ – two basic urges of any living being were, in this concept, driven into a pure fundament.

Luckily or not, Muggles still lacked technical capabilities for producing such a technological nightmare. The same couldn't be said for wizards, or more precisely, the wizards familiar with an obscure branch of magic known as _alchemy_. Thus, when Harry overheard a pair of half-drunk techno-mages complaining about their failed attempts at putting one over the Muggle nanotech researchers, he knew exactly where Dumbledore's book on this rare school of magic could come in handy.

Thus, a few months of hard study and experimentation later, Harry became a proud inventor of the first ever race of magical nano-gobblers. Even though he knew his work was leagues behind Flamel and his Philosopher's stone, it was still a pretty good accomplishment for someone with total of four and a half months of alchemy self-study.

Harry also knew that his gobblers were far from an unstoppable force of destruction muggle scientists imagined them to be. Any wizard could easily transfigure or simply dispel the crawling mass of micro-constructs. After all, it was a known fact that alchemic magic is considerably weaker than any form of direct spell-work and even most potions. That's why Harry had quickly dismissed his army of gobblers as an effective weapon and instead found it a much more suitable purpose - that of a cleaning tool. In rare moments of boredom, he even compiled an imaginary user's manual for his new toy.

_Place a handful of gobblers on any solid surface, set up limits to the area you need cleansed and let the buggers eat all the hairs, blood, fingerprints and other embarrassing leftovers of your latest endeavour. Once all the evidence is gone, calmly watch as the gobblers turn into acid, leaving nothing but a patch of bare, scorched earth. An occasional charmed item may survive the purge, but a few summoning spells will quickly take care of that, leaving you with a spotless escape route._

Harry couldn't even count how many times his gobbler orbs had helped him escape in such fashion, leaving his flabbergasted enemies behind. A smirk stretched across his face when he realized he was about to pull his favourite trick on the scale he had never tried before. After all, cleaning up a campsite was one thing and cleaning up an entire household was quite another.

Throwing one last glance at the ever-faster expanding mass of black dust, Harry calmly walked out of the doomed house, absentmindedly ordering the trunk with the Order's archives to hover behind him. He stopped briefly at Molly Weasley's body and cast a quick detection spell. Pleased that he still had a good 30 minutes before the alarms sounded, he banished her carcass several feet beneath the ground and walked to the wards' edge.

Once there, Harry began chanting a long incantation over and over again, waving his wand in a circular motion. A continuous snake-like cord of light spilled out of his wand and started crawling alongside the warded circle, using it as a guiding line to encompass the entire property. Several minutes later, the magical 'snake' finally reached his position from the other side and merged with its 'tail', creating a uniform circle of magic which encompassed the entire household.

_That should keep the gobblers contained,_ Harry thought, ending the chant. He then calmly walked right through the wards and out into the forest, where he once again found a good vantage point. Putting a fresh toothpick in his mouth, he leaned against a nearby tree and relaxed, looking forward to the grand finale of his revenge.

A true, pleased smile stretched across Harry's face as he saw his babies at work. The house was literally swimming in a sea of black sand, its ground floor already half-eaten from the bottom up. An occasional loud crack was heard as the gobblers chewed through wooden walls and furniture, easily bypassing inactive construction spells holding them together. A different sort of crack, accompanied by a bright flash of light, indicated a magical item buckling in under the force of amassed gobbler army. Enchantments were generally stronger then Alchemy, but in the end, it all came down to the quantity of brute magical force applied on either side. And there were certainly more than enough nano-filaments milling around the Burrow to chew through anything short of a Horcrux.

_No, there won't be any charmed junk surviving this cleanup,_ Harry smirked as his eyes drank up the sight of his enemies' charred remains slowly disappearing under a carpet of black sand.

He briefly amused himself by imagined the Aurors' reaction once they finally get here and find nothing but a circle of scorched ground. He visualized their astonished and fearful faces when they realize someone had obliterated not only a heavily fortified pureblood household, but had also brutally murdered more than 50 prominent wizards that were there. The frantic questions and interrogations would immediately follow. What sort of new, terrible weapon is this? What kind of sorcerer could wield such a phenomenal power? Harry almost laughed aloud as he thought of the panic and finger-pointing that would ensue once a picture of the Burrow's scorched glade dawns on the front page of tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

_Everyone will immediately blame Voldemort... Especially if there's a Dark Mark found over the crime scene_, he realized and then chuckled nastily. _The poor guy will be more confused than anyone; Frantically wondering who had outshined him and then given him credit for the attack. I wonder how will he explain his inability to repeat the feat? Try to buy more time or outright admit there's someone out there more powerful than him? Oh, what a double-edged dilemma that would be._

Harry chuckled again, scheming how this little trick could affect his upcoming visit to the Dark Lord. Of course, he could think of that encounter freely now that there were no more annoying side issues to get in his way.

_No more side issues... This is it. I did it. It's finally over,_ a sudden realization crossed his mind. Even though his brain had already affirmed that his preplanned objectives were fulfilled, he was just now coming to appreciate what his victory truly meant for his future. There would be no more hiding in the shadows, patiently plotting and biding his time. No more risking life and limb in some God-forsaken dungeon, just so he could destroy yet another part of the Dark Lord's soul. No more running and hiding at the first sight of anyone who might know the command words. With each successive point he mentally checked, he felt as if another load of burden was taken from his shoulders, leaving him weak in the knees. By the time his gradual realization finally sunk in completely, almost tangible waves of relief and excitement were crashing through his entire body, leaving him lightheaded with giddiness.

For the first time that day, Harry was able to proclaim a complete victory and not have that nagging annoying voice in the back of his mind disagree. Not only was his grand Horcrux hunt finally over, but he also managed to permanently remove the sword of Damocles that had been hanging over his head ever since he discovered the full extent of Dumbledore's treachery. Of course, he still had a small matter of the final showdown to attend to, but in this moment of triumph, he couldn't help but feel that the hardest part of his quest was behind him.

_Of course, it HAS been a surprisingly hard day,_ he rationalized his overblown optimism, which unfortunately brought back some of the less triumphant moments of the day.

In retrospect, while the Burrow's defences and Order agents were nothing to laugh at, it was his internal struggles and irrational feelings that had caused him most problems. Had it happen because of improperly removed mind-altering spells, a natural reaction to stress or maybe even some sort of active interference, he didn't know. Whatever it was, he couldn't help but feel unnerved by the unpleasant flashes of the wimpy old _'Dumbledore's man'_, whom he thought long gone, dead and buried. And even though he was now firmly back in his proper, positive mentality, he knew that pitfalls of his old self were still lurking, buried beneath his Occlumency shields. He really didn't feel like facing that kind of doubt and weakness again.

_But I will. And I'll prevail too - over and over again, as many times as it takes. I won't let Dumbledore's shadow swallow me now! _Harry thought firmly, decisively dismissing further brooding on his strange regression. Once again, he sternly reminded himself he wasn't the weak insecure fool _they_ wanted him to be. No, he was strong and powerful and smart. So what if his feelings were all over the place because his revenge didn't go down exactly as planned? In the end, he still won. He has proven once and for all he wasn't a malleable puppet they wanted him to be. He was well aware that the battle for his free will was far from over and that there were still many skeletons of his ill-fated past locked up in the far reaches of his mind. But now, he was at least confident that his spirit was stronger than whatever dirty mind control tricks were left from Dumbledore's meddling.

The more he thought about it, the more Harry came to see his unexpected relapse as one last trial of Fate; The final and most difficult exam before graduating into the wizard he had been prophesized to become. He had survived an encounter with the hardest opponent a man could ever face - himself. He had confronted the demons of his past, fought tooth and nail for his individuality and emerged victorious, more than ever confident in his own self-worth and purpose. And for the first time in his life, he truly saw himself not as a freaky little boy, not as an up and coming dark wizard, but as the Dark Lord's one and true equal.

Glancing at his watch, Harry raised his wand to cast the dark mark and complete the scene setup, but his hand faltered as a new awareness resonated through his mind.

_The Dark Lord's equal... can only be another Dark Lord_, he mused, feeling completely at ease with such ponderings.

"A Dark Lord," he said the words thoughtfully, slowly, as if examining their texture under his tongue. His smirk grew a little bit colder and his eyes lost a little bit more of their former spark. He liked the way this phrase rang in his ears. He savoured its taste in his mouth. It tasted good. It also rang true. And he was completely OK with that. Even more so, he wanted it to be true. He needed it. His destiny demanded it, he realized that now.

Suddenly, Harry knew exactly what he had to do. A calm voice of reason droned from the back of his mind about the merits of his original plans, of the dissent it would create in the Dark Lord's... no, in _Voldemort's_ ranks. Harry pushed away these concerns with an almost arrogant disregard. He was past the stage of having to hide under disguises and strike from the shadows. Those tactics had served him well in the past, but all things change. It was time for him to evolve as well.

In a way, Harry always knew this day would come. In the far back of his mind, there was always an awareness that Voldemort could only be taken down by an equal and not by some cowardly rat striking from behind. Thus, when he returned to England, in the pauses between setting up his grand plan and hunting down the remaining Horcruxes, he started working on it. At the time, he thought of it merely as a hobby, an '_interesting learning experience'_. He didn't even notice when it slowly turned into an obsession and he started spending every moment of his spare time drawing runes and writing Arithmancy equations. Three months ago he finally performed the inscribing ritual, thus completing the second spell he had ever crafted in his life. And while his first spell, the Horcrux locator, had been used constantly, for some reason he had always been reluctant to think of his second creation as anything more but an amusing toy, a little homage to both a lost part of his childhood and a friend who had shown him a way to freedom. This reluctance was completely gone now.

Almost in a daze, Harry pointed his wand back into the sky and bellowed "_Nigralbus Dupleitas!_"

A swirling torrent of black and white magic shot out of his wand and flew high above the Burrow, where it exploded into a huge magical avatar in shape of the yin & yang symbol. There would be no Dark Lord Voldemort's symbol striking fear into peoples' hearts tonight. A new player entering the field has just dropped by to leave his calling card and say hello. Cries, panic and fear will be the world's answer, but that was OK - he expected nothing less.

And as Harry watched the symbol of his dominance and victory loom over the last two floors of his once-surrogate family's home, which were slowly sinking into a boiling black sea of destruction, he knew the image was finally complete. Horcrux quest, betrayal and revenge - it all ended here, in this one final checkpoint before the finish line. All the burdens and obligations of the past were finally gone from his shoulders, leaving him the clear field to Voldemort's camp and their prophesied confrontation. The final act of Fate's twenty years long puppet show could finally commence.

And as Harry swirled in place and Apparated away, one thought sarcastically rang through his mind.

_Let the best Dark Lord win._

* * *

**Author notes**

The second part of my monster chapter, which first half is now chapter 2. Hope this brings a sort of a closure before the finale, because I'll now concentrate on Potter's Resistance for a chapter or two.

You might get confused by Harry's conflicting characterization, but trust me, there's a point to that. Even though he's now a dark wizard/lord, underneath it all, he's still just a human being, with all the emotional crap like the rest of us. Becoming something as inhuman as a dark lord must come after a bit of internal struggle - you're not just born as one.

The same goes for the Weasleys and others betrayers. When all is said and done, they are just human beings who had chosen to mess with a wrong wizard and faced the consequences. Even if Molly Weasley saw Harry merely as a way to uplift her family from the poverty, do you doubt she still loved her own children?

Some of you complained that Gnarf had taken too much of the previous chapter. I humbly admit that you are right; I _did_ go a bit overboard with that scene and stretched it more than it was strictly necessary. In my defence, I hope you now see that this scene is less than 20 of what the entire chapter was supposed to be (2nd + 3rd). I'm sure the scene will seem less daunting when reading the story in continuity, instead on chapter-by-chapter basis.

**NOTE** - Version from January 2008. Some rewritten parts and grammar fixes, but no major changes in the plot.

**o - Dark wizard VS Dark Lord**

The way I see it, a dark wizard is merely a wizard who uses dark magic, but otherwise minds his own business. Dark Lord, on the other hand, is a dark wizard who had basically lost control over his dark magic. Instead of him controlling his magic, dark magic is controlling him, pushing him into an endless chase for more power and more control. Note the motive behind his quest - he's seeking power for power's sake, not because he needs it to accomplish some other goal (like Harry has been doing before this chapter).

**o - Wizarding oaths**

This chapter briefly illustrates my opinion of this _abomination_ of a plot tool. If you can just create a binding oath this easily, why did Hermione even bother with magical contract for the DA? Why didn't Voldemort force his followers to make an oath they won't betray him? Why doesn't the ministry forces all 1st year students to make an oath they won't break any law, ever (they could than just get rid of all the aurors and live happily ever after)? Etc...

**o - Credits and acknowledgments**

Since this used to be a second part of chapter 2, acknowledgements remain the same.

Thanks to **Muttering Condolences** for fixing up grammar and other errors. Additional thanks to AFC affiliates **Japanese Jew** and **Charmscharles** for their helpful suggestions. Special kudos to **Jbern**, who helped me figure out a crucial element of the plot.

Once again, three different thanks a charm.

**o - Sources and additional disclaimers**

For various imaginative curse words, slang and insults (helped me a bit with the Weasley killoff scene), look here:

www urbandictionary com

Encyclopaedic references are from the all-powerful Wikipedia

www wikipedia org

To access links, replace empty spaces (' ') with dots ('.').

I don't own any intellectual property mentioned above.


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